The Hogwarts Boy's Guide
by Marilyn Stabs
Summary: What starts out as a simple rivalry between Draco and Harry snowballs into a scandal, a mystery, an epic, and finally, a love story. Harry and Draco bicker, continuously try and out-smart each other, get trapped in a room together, take on evil…and sno
1. The Notebook

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The Hogwarts Boy's Guide

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Chapter One: The Notebook

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Warnings: SLASH relationship, minor bad language, and derogatory terms for homosexuals- used only for characterization

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Author's Notes: This story is one I started nearly two years ago as a high school junior. I'm now a college freshman, and I've taken up interest in this story again. Only I've decided on some major plot changes that will enable me to take this story farther than I originally did. These two years have also changed me in some ways, and that is reflected in my writing style. I've also learned A LOT more about writing, and gotten better at editing myself. For these reasons, I've decided that in order to finish this story, I should first rewrite it.

I hope everyone who read Slide likes this version as much as, or better than the first. I kept all the elements, and a few of the lines that I liked best from Slide. But as I said before, a lot has changed, namely the plot. _I _believe this story is more mature and well put together than the first, but that's really up for you to decide.

And some of you have never read Slide, so the beginning of this story is as good a place to start.

As always, comments are much appreciated. 

Happy reading.

Snape removed his shirt and pulled his black silk robe over his shoulders. Picking up the piece of parchment from his desk in his dorm at Hogwarts, he swept through his living room into the his tiny kitchen. He absently stirred his coffee with his wand, which was exuding a nice, dark chocolate flavor into the bitter beverage while his eyes scanned the paper. He grunted at it and lowered it to his counter, pulling a quill from the pocket of his robe. He drew a large, blood red circle around a paragraph of writing and simply wrote 'No.' Then he marked a 15 out of 50 and snatched the paper off his counter.

God, his students were getting stupider by the year. Disgusting.

He moved back into his living room, now sipping his coffee. He set the paper back in the pile with the others, all with similarly low marks. He was about to turn away and leave the rest of the work for tomorrow morning when he noticed something. He looked over the things scattered across his desk slowly, considering each in turn. 

"Uh huh," he said, then he snapped around, his silk robe spinning out around him as if enchanted to dance.

"Give it back," he said loudly, impassively.

There was a creak as his bedroom door slide open. In the dark shadow cast by the thick, stone doorway stood Draco Malfoy, his light hair covering his eyes. He was leaning casually in the door frame, holding a notebook to his chest.

"Aw, come on," he whined.

Snape held out his large hands, rubbing his long fingers together. "Give it here."

Draco emerged from the room with a grin twitching roguishly on his lips. He slipped the book behind his back.

"Come, on Sevie. I'm not going to hurt anything by looking at it."

Snape glided up to Draco menacingly. He circled around Draco once, looking down at the tall boy from his imposing height, breathing down his neck. Draco stiffened, and his smile slowly faded away. Snape paused before Draco. His black eyes locked onto Draco's gray ones.

"Why is it, Draco" he started slowly, his deep, monotonous voice booming around the stone room, " That you think you deserve special treatment? You know this notebook was banned by the administration. No one is to see it. _No one_. That includes you."

Snape paused and raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an answer.

"Why do I think I deserve special treatment?" Draco repeated, "Hmm, could it be because I've always received special treatment from you and now I'm spoiled? It's your own fault, really."

"Oh, it is?" Snape asked. He didn't move, didn't blink. He simply folded his hands behind his back and waited.

Draco grinned again and tossed back his shaggy, baby soft white hair. "Yes, it's entirely your fault. Now, I ask you again, what would I be hurting by looking at it?"

"Not what, my boy. Who."

Draco smirked, "That makes this even more tempting."

"You're a sick boy," Snape shot back quickly.

Draco laughed, deep and throaty. Snape's face remained stone cold for a moment, then his lips began to twitch. Finally he allowed a smile to stretch across his face- a smile Draco always found disentitling because of it's rarity- and he laid a massive paw onto Draco's finely boned shoulder.

"Fine, have a look if you'd like," he said casually, "I've had a look myself."

"I knew it! I knew you would, you dirty old bastard!" Draco exclaimed, tromping after Snape as he walked towards his large, leather couch. Draco flopped down onto the over stuffed sofa and slapped the notebook on his lap.

Snape brought him a cup of coffee.

"I'll remind you again that I'm not that old. I'm younger than your father," Snape said. "You haven't been to se me in a while," 

Draco sipped his coffee, "Busy. Homework. Studying. Planning for my future, and all that."

"I was under the impression you hadn't been doing much of that lately."

"Says who?"

Snape shrugged, "The other teachers said you've been falling behind. Too much parting, they suspect. I can't tell you often enough, Draco, that it would be sad for you to let your chances of going DragonFields University slip away because you're too involved with your social life. You're smart, Draco, and you have good blood. You _could_ have quite a future ahead of you."

Draco frowned deeply, "You're right, as always. I haven't been as focus on school as I should be. I've just been so stressed lately, and there is ALWAYS a party in the Slytherin house. It's very tempting to abandon my future in favored of having a good time. How did you manage to consentrait of schoolwork when you were a student?"

"Simple. I was never invited to any of the parties," Snape answered. He smiled thinly in remembrance.

"Mr. Potter hasn't been slacking on his studies. He's receiving a higher grade than even you in Potions and in Defense against the Drak Arts," Snape continued. 

After years of mishaps with new teachers, Snape had finally been awarded to position as DADA professor. 

Draco's gray eyes slide to the professor's and he made no move to hide the disgust that flashed in them. "Please don't get me started. You know how I feel about Potter."

"I have a feeling your distaste for him is not in reference to his intelligence."

Draco said nothing. Instead, he looked back at the book on his lap and flipped it open, 

"So you've read parts?" he asked, changing the subject.

Snape lowered himself into a chair and leaned back with his fingers stepled in front of him. "I indulged my curiosity, that's all. I didn't read all of it."

"Anything good?"

Snape shrugged, "It's not my preferred reading material."

"Hmm," Draco hummed, flipping through the book. Different handwritings were scrawled endlessly across the pages. Names were everywhere. A few listed numerous times. He stopped at one name and read.

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'Evie Sparrow: A natural redhead, if you catch my drift. This one can go all night and them some. Likes it kinky, so bring your whip, boys.'

"Yikes! Who'd have thought! She's so quiet," Draco remarked to himself. He read on.

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'Hermione Granger: Hard to catch but well worth the trouble. Surprising nice body, and very vocal. All that reading has done her some good. She knows quite a few fancy tricks'

Draco gulped, "Well, my God. Now I see why Goyle willing spent the weekend in detention for swiping this. This is valuable information."

Snape nodded, "It's been in circulation since the beginning of the year, has it not?"

"Yeah. I wonder who started it. I'd like to-" Suddenly he stopped. His mouth went slack and his eyes glazed over. 

There, on the very same page he'd been scanning, in thin, loopy cursive was the name 'Harry Potter'.

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'Harry Potter: I know not everyone is into the cock, but if you're willing to take one for the team in order to have a good time, Harry is the way to go! Hands like a god and a mouth like a black hole. Much better than any of the inexperienced girls at this school. It takes one to know one, if you know what I mean.'

Draco snapped the book shut.

"What is it?" Snape asked, staring at Draco peculiarly. Draco's face had drained of blood and was now strikingly pale.

Draco shook his head and rose. He tossed the notebook back at Snape.

"Here. Keep it," he said.

"What? You sneak in here to steal it and now you don't even want to read it?" Snape asked.

"You were right. No one should see that. It's not right. It…it's revolting. Completely repellent," Draco spat.

"Which entry are you referring to?" Snape asked, flipping through the pages.

Draco pressed his lips together and mumbled, "The page with the corner bent."

Snape stood up, holding the book and opened it to the page he wad directed to. He tucked his hair back and his eyes scanned the page quickly. Draco watched closely as Snape's eyes locked on the spot and his pupils widened slightly. He looked up and lifted his dark eyebrows.

"Potter?"

Draco nodded.

"It bothers you that much?"

A muscle in Draco's face twitched but he said nothing. He lowered his head and turned away.

"I'm leaving," was all he said before he dashed across the room to the large, heavy door that lead out of Snape's secret chambers. Draco slipped out and slammed the door behind. 

Snape watched the door for a minute. Then he turned away, closing the book and laying it back on it's spot on his desk. He read the cover, on which it was written in magical golden script:

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'The Hogwarts Boy's Guide to the Best lays in School' 


	2. Sexual Harassment

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The Hogwarts Boy's Guide

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Chapter Two: Sexual Harassment

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Warnings: Slash, a few strong swear words, and derogatory language

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Author's Notes: Comments adored. Opinions valued.

Later that night found Draco sitting in his house's common room, lounged back in a green leather chair. All around him the common room was becoming a veritable madhouse. It had the feel of an America Saloon of the old west. There were card games, drinking, music, and of course the occasional outburst of a fist fight that ended in broken tables and noses. The whole room had the air of a riot in the making. 

Draco was not involved tonight, conversely. His head was dropped over the Astronomy homework perched on his lap and his quill was caught between his fingers and lips. His mind, however, was not on the homework in front of him, but rather on Harry Potter and The Notebook.

He kept seeing that name scribbled so casually across the page, as if whoever wrote it hadn't realized the implications. Oh sure, everyone knew that Harry was gay. Harry had come out to a few friends months ago- namely Weasley, who had spilled the beans to his sister Ginny. Ginny told her boyfriend at the time, Blaise Zambini of Slytherin, who promised not to tell. He'd meant to keep the promise too, except the very next week Little Weasley broke up with him for a Hufflepuffer (and there was no worse insult than that). In a fit of hysterical grief, Blaise told Pansy Parkinson about Potters affliction. Pansy, of course, made sure the entire school, including the professors and Hogwarts staff, knew Harry's secret by the weeks end. 

So, no, the fact that Potter was a fag was not what shocked Draco. It was the fact that he was _in _The Notebook. That meant that somebody at Hogwarts of the male gender had been with Harry Potter. 

They hadn't necessarily had sex. Even though the book was labeled 'Best Lays', it was really just a trophy hall of who had fooled around with who. The Notebook was enchanted only to allow truthful entries to be entered. Most people signed their entries proudly for that purpose.

Harry's had not been signed. But it was in there. And that meant it was true.

It made Draco angry, the way someone had just flaunted his abnormality in the pages of the book. Just put it out there, in words, for everyone to see. He'd been with The Golden Boy, perhaps participating in a few golden showers. Two boys, together. It made his stomach turn as he tried to picture it. Harry Potter, and a faceless male partner, grunting and sweating together, doing what was forbidden to them.

Ugh.

God, that was so foul. 

And yet so…fascinating. For some odd reason Draco couldn't let go of it, disturbing as the thought was. Who had been with Harry? What had they done? What all _could _two men do together? It was horrific to think about, yet alluring at the very same time. Draco hated to admit it, but it was true. It wasn't as if he thought it was…exciting or arousing or anything like that. Because that was sick and wrong. He was just…curious, was all.

"Draco!" came a squawking voice behind him. 

Draco's stomach flipped over and his face whitened. He felt embarrassed of the thoughts and pictures that had just been entertaining in his mind. Though he knew it was impossible, he worried that someone had been witness to his thoughts. Clearing that thought from his mind, he turned to see who had called his name.

A head full of ashy brown curls popped up from behind his chair, closing followed by a large set of breasts. Pansy Parkinson, curls and boobs. 

She snuggled up on the arm of his chair and draped one arm around Draco's shoulders. He tried to scoot away, uncomfortable by their closeness, but Pansy held on tight.

"Draco, baby," she purred, smiling with perfectly white teeth.

"Yes, dear?" Draco asked, with an obnoxiously fake smile. 

"A few of the boys are going to put on an all male review for the Slytherin ladies this weekend, and everybody wants you to join."

"An all male review? And I suppose this involves me getting naked?" he asked.

Pansy shook her head and her curls bounced all over, tickling Draco's face, "No, no. Not naked. Of course not. That would be vulgar. You'd be wearing this!"

With that, she produced the costume from her pocket with a flourish. She dangled a green thong with a silver snake print on the front in front of him. Draco's jaw dropped.

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Draco! Come on! Don't be such a wimp. You're _gorgeous_, you have nothing to worry about!"

Draco snorted and reverberated, "No."

"Please, Draco? For me?" Pansy asked with a sniffled. She stuck out her bottom lip and batted her huge, coal rimmed eyes.

"Pansy, go away. I'm busy, alright? I'm not going to be in some silly strip show so that you and your friends can ogle me in that pair little pair of knickers. Absolutely not. It's degrading."

"Geez, you sound like a women," Pansy said.

Draco pressed his lips together, feeling his temper flare up. "Pansy…"

She continued on, "The strip show is all in good fun, Baby. You're being too serious about this. Unless there's something you don't want us finding out about you," Her fingers crept up his thigh, "Maybe the fact that you're making a huge fuss about this is making up for…smaller things on your person?"

Anger flashed through Draco's eyes as Pansy's hand came over the body part she was referring to. On instinct, Draco grabbed Pansy and shoved her off of him. He hadn't meant to push her hard- just enough to get her hands away from his no-no parts. But he had shoved her a bit too forcefully. She tumbled off the chair with a surprised gasp and hit her head on the stone wall behind her.

She reached her hand up to feel her head, fat tears gathering in her eyes.

"Fine, I get it," she said in a voice a few octaves higher than normal.

"Pans, I didn't mean-"

A few people had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene. Two of Pansy's friends rushed over to help her up, fawning over her to make sure she wasn't hurt badly. One of them, a blonde girl, scowled at Draco and said:

"Why have you always got to be such a jerk, Malfoy?"

The other friend, this one a boy, said, "Nice going. Hitting girls now, I see."

Without having had to say anything to either, Crabbe and Goyle appeared out of no where to stand behind Draco, who had risen from his chair. They crossed their meaty arm and adopted threatening sneers to their beefy faces.

"I might be hitting you in a second, if you don't adopt a different tone," Draco snapped at the boy. 

The boy said nothing, but Draco saw the bobbing of his Adams apple as he gulped nervously. Draco turned and snatched up his things from the chair and crushed them to his chest. Then he looked at Pansy, who was sniveling pitifully.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said in a low, even tone, although his eyes never lost their heated shimmer.

"I'm going to my room to study," he said to Crabbe and Goyle, "I can see there will be no concentrating if I stay down here."

Draco stomped up the winding staircase to the loft which lead to the boys' dorm room. He walked across, and stopped. Placing his hands on the cold iron rail, he leaned over, looking down into the common room. Everyone had quickly resumed their merriment. He could see Pansy now enjoying the attention of her male friend, who had perched her on his lap and was examining her head for damage. Crabbe and Goyle had left him when he made his exit, and were now seated in front of the massive, white and silver marble fireplace with a group of first years, playing cards. More like cheating at cards and winning all their snacks from them, Draco thought, as he noticed the massive pile of candy next to his chubby friends.

Any other day he'd have been down there himself, acting as the life of the party, as usual. But for some reason, tonight he simply didn't feel as though he belong there.

Harry Potter slapped Dean Thomas on the back happily.

"Great job out there, today!" he said.

Dean shifted away from Harry's touch but smiled none the less 

"Thanks, Harry," he said to the captain of the Quiddich team. 

He nodded quickly and, Harry noticed, tighten his towel around his waist as he slunk away from Harry to get dressed, casting a dubious glance behind him before dropping trou.

Harry sighed quietly, trying to appear as if he didn't notice. Pretending he didn't notice the way everyone eyed him in the showers after practice now, to make sure he wasn't taking a peek at them. Pretending he didn't notice how they shied away from his touch anymore, as if one caress from him could give them his dreaded disease. 

As if he could give them 'The Gay'.

He tightened his own towel and walked up to one of the foggy, shower room mirrors. He wiped a clean spot and looked at his reflection. He liked to make sure he didn't have the word 'queer' stamped across his forehead. He often felt as though he did. 

But no, there he was, starring back at himself, completely normal. He looked the same as he always had, altered only slightly by age. His black hair was still untidy, though now a bit longer so that the weight of his hair quelled some of the scruffiness. His green eyes flashed with a faint, but ever present sorrow from behind his thick framed glasses. The events of his life, his loses, his personal tragedies had taken a toll on him over the years. They'd robed him of some spark, some glow of innocence, and replaced it with a hardened sort of sadness. But his jaw had grown stronger, as had his body. He'd long ago shed his baby fat and replaced it with long, lithe muscle.

Harry looked away from his reflection and splashed his face with cool water from the ever replenishing basin in front of him. He towel dried his face and hair, then turned back to his team, who were stiffly pulling on fresh clothes or pajamas.

"Alright team," Harry said, "We had a great practice today. I want all of you to get a good night's sleep and be ready for practice tomorrow evening. No skipping dinner. No drinking. Save that for after we kick Slytherin's butt's at our first match."

Harry's short speech was met by happy whoops and cheers. Slowly, the team filed out of the Gryffandor locker room back to the common room, which was connected to the locker room by a short hall and a tapestry covered door.

A few minutes later, only Ron remained. After Harry had been elected captain, he'd helped Ron train and get accepted back onto the team. Though he wasn't one of the best players, and didn't possess any sort of natural skill, as long as he practiced he played well enough. A lot better than he had fifth year, that was for sure.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, "You doing alright, mate? You look a little out of sorts."

Harry pulled his black T-shirt over his head and straightened his glasses. He picked up his damp towel and tosses it into the laundry basket next to the shower stall.

"Yes, fine," he answered, giving Ron a forced smile.

Ron frowned, "You're a horrible liar, Harry."

"I know."

"So what is it? What's eating you?"

"It's just that," Harry started, not sure if he wanted to tell Ron what he was about to, but continuing anyway, "It's just that, every since word got out about me being…gay, it seems like everyone is acting different towards me. The team is so uncomfortable around me now."

"Not the girls," Ron pointed out, "They've been hanging all over you."

"Yeah, well, I don't mean them. Every girl just wants a gay best friend, I reckon. I meant the guys. They all watch me in the shower like I'm liable to pounce on them at any moment. They all go stiff when I touch them. They all stay at least four feet away from me when I talk to them."

"I don't know, Harry, they just aren't used to the idea of you being different yet. It's nothing against you, of course. Everybody still likes you, of course. It was just sort of…shocking for us all to find out."

Harry smiled thinly, "Yeah, and you've been really great about it, Ron. You don't know how much I appreciate that."

Ron's face flushed, "Erm, well…That's what friends are for, I guess. You being a…a you know…it doesn't make you a different person. You're still my best friend."

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning at the way Ron dodged the word gay best he could. He wondered if Ron thought it would offend him, or hurt his feelings. He wished he could tell him that it was ok to say what he was. It was ok to use the word gay.

Harry continued, "I'm just not sure if I'm the best person to be captain anymore. I mean, all the other houses laugh at our team now. Gryffandor, coached by a queer."

"Well, they shouldn't be laughing, should they? I mean, we haven't lost a game this season! Don't be a prat, Harry. You're a great captain! And everybody knows it! The other houses are just jealous that we've got you and they don't!" Ron barked. 

Good old Ron, always standing up for him. Always doing his best to hold Harry up when times got rough. 

Ron slung his arm over Harry's shoulder. It made Harry's insides flutter to know that Ron wasn't afraid to touch him like everyone else seem to be. His heart turned to warm butter as Ron lead them out of the locker room. He punch Harry lightly in the arm.

"Hey, don't worry about everyone else, Harry. If they aren't comfortable with you, it's their problem, not yours," Ron said.

And for a while, at least, Harry followed Ron's advice. He didn't worry about it.

The next morning found Draco Malfoy in quite the foul mood. He'd decided to wear his new boots that had just come in from Italy through the post. He thought they were fantastically stylish. They were shinny black, Italian leather with pointed toes and a slightly elevated heel. He put them on with his black school pants and a soft gray sweater with his white silk dress shirt underneath. He'd been feeling pretty good about himself until he'd walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and Goyle had taken one look at him and shouted:

"Cor, Draco, what have you got on? A pair of high heels?"

Goyle's thoughtless statement had caused an onslaught of giggling, particularly from the first years, until Draco cast them all a look that would have frozen the blood in Satan's veins. 

"For your information these are Italian boots, and they cost more than your life, Goyle. So I'd shut up if I were you," Draco said.

Goyle did shut up after that, changing the subject to the lack of strawberry jelly at Hogwarts.

"They've got every other kind of jelly. Even orange marmalade and every hates that! Where's the strawberry?" he asked, clearly outraged.

But Draco couldn't concentrate. He was too busy stewing. His boots did not look like high heels. Absolutely not. They were perfectly masculine, thank you very much. Of course they were! Because he wasn't some fag, not like Potter.

Potter.

He was still thinking about the notebook. _Hands like a god_, it said. That was so very wrong. Harry's hands, on another boys-

Draco shuddered. Or shivered. He felt funny thinking about it, having a tendency of picturing Harry's hands engaged with his own bits and pieces, for lack of a mental picture of any other boys junk in his mind but his own. He shook his head and rose from the table, once again feeling embarrassed by his thoughts.

"Where are you going?" Blaise Zambini, the auburn haired boy responsible for telling Pansy about Potter's condition, asked.

"I'm going to Potions early. I have some homework to finish up," Draco said dismissively.

He turned on his (very manly) heel and trod away from the table with large, hurried steps. A pretty, black haired witch was rising from the table at the same time, adjusting her skirt, and bumped into Draco. When she saw who she'd bumped into, her cheeks reddened and her lashes lowered. 

"Oooh…sorry, Malfoy," she tittered, looking up and drawing in a breath. Her eyes locked on his and she seemed somewhat unable to look away.

Draco was used to having this effect on girls. He figured it had something to do with his great, great, great, great grandfather, Vladimir Malfoy, who married a veela.

"It's fine," Draco said briskly, and turned to walk away.

"Hey, nice shoes!" she said.

Before he could stop himself, Draco snarled, "Bugger off."

It wasn't until he saw the girl's crestfallen expression that he realized she'd meant it as a compliment.

Harry Potter was in a better, more confident mood the next morning when he strutted into his first period Potions class. Even seeing Snape glowering at him from his desk didn't do anything to cloud his sunny disposition. Ron had been right. If people didn't like him for being what he was, that was their problem, not his.

He took his seat next to Hermione. She was deeply immersed in a large, old tome called 'Advanced Arithmancy for Advanced Wizards'. She blushed crimson when Harry noticed that inside that book, she was hiding 'The Wicked Wizards Request', a dog eared novel with a picture of wizard wearing only a grin and a tight pair of leather trousers on the cover.

Ron came in shortly after and sat across from Harry and Hermione, still stuffing his face with biscuits he'd shoved in his pockets during breakfast.

"I just never have time to eat enough!" he explained, as he cast a sly glance at Snape and popped another biscuit into his mouth. Eating was strictly forbidden in Snape's dungeon.

Harry's smile did not even falter when Draco Malfoy came swaggering into the room, flanked by his portly pals, Crabbe and Goyle, and chose the seat in directly in front of Harry. Malfoy repeatly attempted to give Harry dirty looks, but Harry simply refused to pay attention. He wasn't going to let anything get to him today. He'd promised himself that. 

Snape cleared his throat loudly, indicating the he was about to begin his lecture. Malfoy finally turned around and directed his attention away from Harry. The class began taking notes, and Ron passed a note to Harry. Inside was a cartoon of Snape with such a disproportionate nose than he'd fallen on his face and couldn't get up. Harry penciled his own drawing and set it back to Ron. They continued this way through out the first half hour at class with Hermione clicking her tongue at them disapprovingly. 

Snape finally finished talking and wrote a series of instructions in the air with his wand, which bled out bright red words that hovered in the air along the front wall. He split them into groups of four. Harry was with Hermione, Ron and Neville. Just in front of them, Malfoy was grouped with Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson. Malfoy loudly commanded his three group members to go gather ingredients and then leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. 

Hermione and Ron offered to gather up what they needed, and Hermione pulled Neville along with them, briefing him on the spell so that he would be less likely to mess it up. Harry sat in his seat glancing through his text book. 

After a moment, he had the sense that someone was looking at him. He lifted his head and briefly caught Malfoy's eyes. He quickly turned his blonde head away and snatched up his book.

Malfoy had been watching him! Harry thought.

Then, suddenly, Malfoy turned back around, his feet clunking to the ground. He set his long fingered hands on Harry's desk and tipped his head back as if he were thinking about something.

Harry's heart started to beat faster. What was this going to be about?

"Hey, Potter?" Malfoy asked casually, as if addressing a friend.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you'd heard of the notebook that was circulating around Hogwarts these past few months. You know, the one written by the boys about which witches-"

"Yeah, I've heard of it, Malfoy. It's out of circulation now. What's your point?"

"But it's not out of circulation. I happened to have a look at it last night."

Harry's green eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way Draco was grinning at him. His smile didn't reach up to his cold, gray eyes. It was fake. Mocking. Malicious.

"So why are you telling me?" Harry asked.

"I thought you'd want to know that your name was in it."

Harry's heart dropped to the floor. His insides went cold, brittle, and crumbled away. His name was in 'The Hogwart Boy's Guide to the Best Lays in School'? How? Who could have done that?

He'd never been interested in looking at The Notebook when it was being passed around earlier that year, before Snape had confiscated it. He thought it was mean and degrading, not to mention tactless. It was the ultimate kiss and tell. That was something Harry never did, especially considering his circumstances.

But someone had written about him. So one had put his name in The Notebook for everyone to see. Harry's blood ran icy in his veins. A thousands questions littered his mind. Who had seen it? Who had written it? What had they said about him? Why had they betrayed him?

Malfoy interrupted his thoughts.

"It was very interesting reading, Potter. Very. Interesting."

Harry looked up at Malfoy, then passed him. A few of the students had turned to listen. Ron and Hermione were watching from across the room with silent looks of trepidation. They looked ready to jump in at a moments notice, for which he was grateful. But Harry's heart still thumped like crazy. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going.

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Don't let him get to you! His heart screamed. _You promised yourself you wouldn't get upset over this sort of thing!_

He looked back to Malfoy, who was now grinning like a crazed villain. 

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Don't let him get to you! Nothing he says matters.

"Tell me, Harry," Malfoy said loudly, forcefully, "How is it that you can be such a tight ass during the day, and yet be so open to anyone who wants to fuck you at night?"

There was a moment of complete silence in the class room. 

Then Malfoy watch as Harry Potter's face crumbled before him. His words, it seemed, had struck a cord. He could see the spark drain from Harry's cool, jade eyes. He watched as Harry's big-bad, avenger of evil exterior cracked and flaked away. Harry suddenly seemed young, hurt, _vulnerable_.

For a second, Malfoy felt something he could only describe to himself as close to guilt.

It passed, of course, as all bad things do.

Soon the silence began to turn to smothered laughter. It gradually grew louder, slipping from between fingers clamped hard over mouths. Crabbe and Goyle came up behind Draco, both tearful with cackling. Draco began to laugh as well, not so much at his own joke, but at the look on Harry's face. The Mudblood and Weasley looked similarly horrified.

Draco's laughter turned into a sudden release of tension. Six years intense jealousy came spilling out of his body in the form of uncontrollable giggles. Potter face went white, then red, then purple. Draco only laughed harder.

And suddenly, Potter's face resumed it's usual color. The hurt look in his eyes was overcome by an unnatural calm. An absence of emotion. Draco's laughter became slowed and sporadic. Because, if there was one thing important thing he'd noted about Harry Potter, it was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. You could read his face like a book. But at the moment, Harry was opaque. 

And Draco didn't like it. It was unnerving.

Harry's eyelids drooped to half mast. A thin smile played on his lips. He stood up and walk slowly, deliberately up to Draco. He stopped only when their noses were mere inches apart.

"Why do you want to know, Malfoy?" he asked, eyebrows raised over the black rims of his glasses, "Interested?"

Suddenly the laughter started up again, harder than ever. Potter has obviously one-uped him, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

Potter cocked his head to the side. His hands came up, finger tips poised and only a hare's breath away from Draco's chest. He leaned in and his lips almost brushed Draco's.

Draco leapt back, startled. He could hear Crabbe and Goyle's roaring behind him. 

"Quiet! Quiet, all of you!" Snape bellowed. "In you're seats! Now! All of you! Anyone who remains stand will lose fifty house points and will spend detention with me for the rest of this week!"

Draco flopped into his seat, letting his hair fall into his face for fear anyone would see the color of his burning face. His lips were pressed together, his teeth pressing them down so much that it hurt. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt chilled to the bone, and feverish at the same time. He felt…humiliated.

Harry Potter had humiliated him in front of the entire class, not to mention Snape.

He wouldn't forget that. 

He would get Harry back. He'd get him good for this, he thought, clenching his fist. Heaven help him, he'd make Potter regret what he'd done.

"Harry, that was brilliant! How did you think to do…that?" 

Harry shrugged at Ron.

"Well, remember last night? How I said that everyone had been acting like, you know, they were scared of me touching them? I just thought of that. I figured that was the one thing I could do that would scare Malfoy off."

"Well, you certainly startled him, Harry!" Hermione said, jogging along side the boys as they crossed the snowy courtyard. "The look on his face was absolutely precious."

"Yeah, for once that prat had nothing to say!"

"Albeit, that was an unusual tactic, it worked like a charm! I wouldn't be surprised if he stays away from all of us for a while," Hermione said cheerfully

"I hope so. You wouldn't want to have to do it again, would you Harry? I mean, you almost had to touch the slimy bastard," Ron shuddered.

"Mmm, yeah," Harry said.

He didn't say it out loud, but it had been sort of exhilarating to get so close to Malfoy. Harry knew it was more than a little odd to be thinking it. Malfoy was his greatest enemy besides Volimort. And sometimes, he found that his hatred for the former outweighed the later. 

It was just that, well he'd never been so close to Malfoy. He'd never had a chance to see his ashen gray eyes up close. He'd never had the opportunity to notice how flawless Malfoy's skin was. He had never felt the warmth coming from Malfoy's skin, which had made him realize how so obviously warm blooded he was, though they'd always suspected the opposite. He'd never smelled him before. He never knew that Mafloy smelled like warm vanilla and cinnamon- a smell that reminded him of something that had always been forbidden to him at the Dursley's house: the warm snicker doodle cookies Petunia Dursley made for Dudley and Vernon.

Malfoy smelled like snicker doodle's! He wished he could tell Ron and Hermione that, but he knew they'd find it strange that he'd noticed. Hell, he thought it was strange.

"…And we'll go to The Three Broomsticks tonight to celebrate Harry's victory over Malfoy!" Hermione was saying.

Harry looked surprised, "You'd brake the rules and go to Hogsmead on a weekday?"

Hermione shrugged, "It's for you, Harry. Anyway, it's our final year at Hogwarts. I think it's time for me to do a little…misbehaving. It couldn't hurt."

"Wow!" Ron said, smiling at Hermione like an idiot. "Great!"

"After dinner then?" Hermione asked.

"Of course!" Harry said.

"Yeah!" Ron chimed. 

"Ok, then. Tonight we celebrate Harry's _mortification_ of Malfoy."


	3. A Settling of Scores

****

The Hogwarts Boy's Guide

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Chapter 3: A Settling of Scores 

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Warnings: Slash, a few strong swear words, and derogatory language

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Author's Notes: Well, I've got a bit of news that should perk you readers up. I have a beta reader now! So now all those little typos and grammar mistakes that are so annoying will be pretty much eliminated. Thanks so much to _Lunadeath_, the aforementioned and much needed Beta reader. If you haven't already, check out her fan fiction which is located on this very website.

I have one more thing to mention, and that is that this week my boyfriend made it very clear that he does not approve of my fan fiction writing. Confronting his arguments really made me consider what I'm doing here. And I have to say that now I only feel stronger about that validity of fan fiction. I don't believe that fan fiction, smut and slash included, is in anyway inferior to original fiction. That being said, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the other girls (and boys) out there who write fanfic, and have to deal with those who just don't get it. Cheers, mates. Happy writing, and happy reading.

****

Draco's thirst for revenge on Harry was irrepressible. After…well _whatever_ it was that had happened in Potions, because Draco still wasn't sure exactly what Potter had thought he was doing, he was beside himself with furry. Every time he thought of the embarrassment Potter had caused him , his fist clenched and his body trembled.

The only thing that consoled him throughout the day was fantasies of retribution. He thought of all sorts of ways to get Harry back, some more realistic than others. He'd had to tell himself over and over again that though killing everybody Potter loved was positively brilliant revenge, he didn't want to spend the rest of his days sealed up in Azkaban.

It wasn't until he was lying in bed that night with a relaxation potion flowing through his veins that he thought of the perfect plan. It hit him suddenly, as he was meticulously reviewing the events of his day. He realized that today Harry had unintentionally revealed his weak spot. He'd shown Draco himself just what nerve to touch. He'd practically handed Draco his heart and said, "Here, Malfoy, do with this what you will."

Draco was tempted to let loose a maniacal, villain's cackle as he began spinning his plot. The kind of laugh that super genius mad scientists had in Muggle movies. He wanted to tap his fingertips together and just let the mad laughter gurgle out of him, let them grow louder and louder, and all the while lightening would flash and thunder would crash all around him. 

__

I've got you where I want you now, Potter! He thought.

__

Prepare to be brought to your knees.

Snape was in the middle of a nice bubble bath when a frantic pounding began to resound around his dorm in the dungeon of Hogwarts. Grumbling, he laid down his book and stood up, letting the bubbles cascade down his chest, over his stomach and down around his legs. He reached for a fluffy green towel and wrapped it around his waist. He tied it securely, and then stepped out of the bear clawed tub. He didn't bother to slick back the silky, drenched strands of his hair that fell over his eyes, preferring to let them obscure his face. 

He padded through his bedchamber and through his living room to the door. The banging was insistent. He began to wonder if the Dark Lord himself had come to summon him, with all the commotion he was hearing. But when he opened the door, it was only Draco.

"Draco, I trust you have a very important reason for barging into my personal chambers for the second time this week," he growled.

Draco smirked and said, "Cheerfully hospitable as ever, I see."

"At least this time you knocked," Snape grumbled, and Malfoy junior walked in and made himself comfortable on his couch. He began flipping through a pile of magazines on his coffee table.

"What's this all about?" Draco asked, holding up 'GQ Wizard'.

Snape snatched it away and flung it across the room. "Never you mind. Now what do you want? You must realize you have disrupted my…personal time."

"Yes, I can tell by the way you're standing about naked," Malfoy said casually, "Anyway, I didn't know I'd be interrupting you. It's past midnight, I was sure I'd just be waking you up."

Snape groaned.

Draco snapped the magazine he was looking at shut and said, "I just couldn't sleep. I've been thinking about Potter all day long. I'm sure you saw what he did to me in your class today."

"I did."

"Well, what do you think about it? I mean, what was he getting at? Surely he can't really be attracted to me. It was as if he trying to scare me off, or something."

"That's precisely what I think he was doing. He was attempting to frighten you into leaving him alone."

"Hmmm. Well, he humiliated me, was what he did. Everybody was laughing! At me! At a Malfoy! I can't believe it. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before," Draco pouted, "I can't believe Potter had the balls to pull something like that."

Snape looked down at Draco, really seeing him, not just looking at him. He looked in everyway like a young man should look. He was tall, taller than most of the other boys in the school. Though he was slim, he had a look of strength about him, which was most likely why not many ventured to talk back to him. His facial features had hardened and matured over time, all but his tiny, up tilted nose that served to give him his air of superiority. Over the past 7 years, Draco had grown into man.

Physically, anyway.

But Snape could see now that mentally, he still had much growing to do.

He sighed and shook his head, water droplets raining down from his damp hair.

"I don't know what I can tell you, Draco. Perhaps you've learned your lesson," Snape said.

Draco leapt up. His face was suddenly livid, his fingers clenched into fists.

"Learned my lesson? Learned my lesson! Would you suggest, Severus, that I just sit back and take that from _Potter_? Would you?"

Draco backed up slowly until he was leaning against Snape's desk. He shook his head, his silvery hair scattering, moving fluidly like water.

"I can't do that. I can't let him get the best of me. Not again. Potter's been besting me for years. Everything I do, he has to do it better," Draco rambled. 

Then Draco looked him in the eye and Snape saw something he never thought he'd see in Draco.

Raw, unconcealed emotion. There was a pain in those normally placid, gray eyes.

"When I was two," Draco said, "I got my first broom. I began taking flying lessons at three. My instructors assured me I'd be the best flier at Hogwarts by the time I came of age to attend. My father paid them to make me the best flier! And what happened? Wonder-Boy Potter came along, and having had no experience what-so-ever in his entire life, flew better than me. _He_ was accepted onto the Quidditch team as a First Year! And ever since then _he_ has beaten me to the Snitch in every game we've ever played against each other. Do you know what that feels like? Do you?! To have someone constantly stealing your glory right from under you?"

Draco's eyes were full and wide now. Candlelight reflected from deep within their depths, the flames seeming to come from his soul rather than from the lights mounted in the room. His hair streamed into his face. His lips trembled with rage.

Draco finally heaved a sigh, and his body relaxed. He fell back, rocking back on his heels. His eyes became clouded once more with the shield of indifference. Draco's defenses were once again in place.

He shook his head, "I could go on and on about all the ways in which Potter has bruised my ego. I'm not going to let Potter get away with this. I just…can't."

Draco leaned back against the desk, his hands behind him, gripping it. 

"You have a lot of anger inside you, Draco," Snape said. Jealousy as well, he thought, but didn't say it. He knew better than to confront Draco with that.

Draco winced, obviously expecting a lecture.

"Reminds me of me when I was you age," Snape finished, truthfully. He smiled a bitter smile.

A half hour later found Draco skipping somewhat cheerily up the stairs to his dorm room. He felt better after his chat with Snape. Somehow the man always knew what to say to perk him up. No one would have suspected Snape of being the mentor type, but he'd become just that to Draco. Snape had always been a close friend of the Malfoy family, but Draco had only become friends with him after his father had been sent to Azkaban at the end of fifth year. Snape had coached him through that difficult time, and earned Draco's trust. 

Snape had become Draco's very first trusted confidant.

With his father having been gone for two years now, Snape had become something of a surrogate father to Draco, though Draco never revealed the sentiment out loud. Snape would lament having been placed in such a position, so Draco kept his feelings to himself. It was what he was used to. Malfoy's didn't show the 'weaker' emotions, and Snape was the same way. To an outsider, Draco and Snape's relationship may have seemed cold, but they understood each other's ways. What they had worked for them. 

Draco opened the door to his room and peeked in. Moonlight spilled from the tiny, slat windows onto the rich, wooden floor. All the beds had their dark green curtains drawn shut. The fire in their little fireplace had burned itself into smoldering ashes, crackling and hissing quietly. He could hear Crabbe snoring, and winced. He didn't know why Crabbe refused to use the anti-snoring potion Draco had had Snape whip up for him.

Draco grinned as he skulked into the room. He passed through the thick shadows and stripes of silver light, moving silently and gracefully, floating through the room like a spirit. He stopped at the bed closest to the fireplace, his bed. He drew apart the heavy, velvet curtains and flopped onto his bed.

A smile crept onto his lips. His talk with Snape wasn't all that had cheered him up. He'd actually had two agenda's that night when he'd went to visit his old friend. The second was of a more devious nature.

Draco slowly lifted up his sweater and drew The Notebook out from under it. He was thrilled at how well the theft had gone. Snape hadn't noticed Draco snatch up the book from his desk during his outburst and slip it up the back of his shirt. He hadn't noticed, either, when he shifted it around front to make it less noticeable.

Stage one of his plan had gone flawlessly.

Tomorrow morning, he'd find out of stage two would go the same.

But he had no time to muse over that, he thought. He crawled down his bed to his trunk and opened it, pulling out a slack of black parchments. He had a lot of work to do before morning…

"Morning, Harry. You're looking better today," Hermione said as Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry ruffled his hair, a gesture he'd unconsciously picked up from his father from Snape's memory during fifth year. He dropped into the seat across from her.

"Well, you and Ron did a right good job of cheering me up last night," he said with a grin.

"Glad to do it," Ron said, "Muffin?" 

Harry took one, and began to smear jelly over it. He smiled at Ron.

"Of course _you_ were glad to do it, Ron; it got you out of doing homework all night," Hermione said.

Ron just shrugged, not bothering to refute her. 

Harry went on setting breakfast items on his plate. He reached up for a pitcher of orange juice when something across the room caught his eye. 

Pansy Parkinson was standing up, with her arms clasped around a stack of papers. She was handing a bundle to the students sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table. Weird. Why would a Slytherin be associating with another house? They tended to enjoy being exclusive with each other, Pansy especially. She'd even refused to date a guy because he was in Ravenclaw.

The papers were getting passed down the tables. Like a wave, mouths began to drop all down the table. The expression was being passed down the line, followed by glances towards the Gryffindor table.

"'Mione, Ron…" Harry started.

But they'd already noticed. They were both turned around in their seats, watching the other table. Pansy had now moved to the blue clothed Ravenclaw table, passing down another stack of the papers. The same effect happened once again, with people beginning to point.

"What has she got?" Ron asked. His mouth was hanging open rather unattractively, displaying his half chewed breakfast.

"We're about to find out, she coming over here."

Pansy moved to the end of the their table, and cast a meaningful look in the trio's direction before dropping the last of the stack onto the breakfast table. They were so intent in watching the parchments being passed down, that they didn't notice the shadow that fell over them seconds later.

Draco Malfoy waited as Potter received one of his little masterpieces. He'd been up all night copying them magically, also incorporating a tiny picture of Potter from last year's yearbook in the corner so there wouldn't be any confusion to who the little article referred to. He watched Potter's eyes scan over the heading, moving like lightning under sooty black lashes. _From The Hogwarts Boys Guide to the Best Lay's in School: _it read. Potter's eyes fell lower, past the smiling picture of him, to the scrawling handwriting below. Draco's experienced a feeling of triumph as the boy adopted a look of complete horror.

Potter's head snapped up and his eyes suddenly bore into Draco's. Jade meet mercury. For a while, neither boy broke eye contact. Draco felt an almost tangible sensation of intensity between them. He found could not look away. There was something hypnotic in those green eyes. Something mesmerizing.

"Malfoy," he growled, bring Draco back to reality.

Draco adopted an acidic grin, "Potter." He reached into his robes and pulled out the tattered old Notebook and tossed it at the black haired boy. It landed on his plate, knocking his orange juice over. "I just thought you might want to see the original copy of what was written about you."

Potter didn't even look down at it. He refused to look away from Draco, his gaze becoming more severe by the second. The tiny, zigzag scar on Harry's forehead turned from pink to white. He slowly lifted his fist, clutching the printed copy of the page with the entry about him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why, what, Potter? You're going to have to be a bit more specific with your questions."

"Why did you do this?"

"How do you even know it was me?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Get off it, Malfoy!" Potter finally exploded, "Who else would do this? Who else _could_ do something like this?"

"What are you trying to insinuate about my character?" 

Potter's eye's turned suddenly greener, brighter, glowing from within. It was actually quite scary. "I guess I'm insinuating that you've got frozen water flowing through your veins and a huge gaping black hole where you're heart ought to be.

Draco struggled to remain nonchalant at this accusation. He rolled his eyes and said, "All right, you got me. I did it. You have to admit, it's a lovely bit of work. I spent a long time arranging it- "

Potter stood up suddenly and grabbed Draco's collar. He dragged him across the table with a force Draco hadn't anticipated. He had to brace himself quickly, sacrificing stomping one hand into a pat of butter, to keep from being yanked off of his feet.

For the second time in two days, Draco found himself within snogging distance of Harry Potter. His breath came hot across his lips. 

"Malfoy, I don't know what you're out to do to me, but it's going to stop. Do you understand?"

"Are you threatening me, Potter? Because I really doubt you can do me any bodily harm. If you've forgotten, my friends Crabbe and Goyle are roughly of the size and strength of gorillas."

"I don't mean I'm going to harm you physically," Potter growled, and something flashed in his eyes. "I mean, I'll do something to harm your reputation, as it seems you're so intent on harming mine."

Draco couldn't resist. "Like what?"

Harry yanked him closer. Their noses were touching. Draco suddenly felt slightly panicked at their closeness. Goosebumps rose up on his flesh. His breath hitched. 

"You do remember yesterday, don't you? Let's not make this a repeat performance, because I didn't like it anymore than you did," Harry hissed venomously.

Then he let go. Draco rocked back onto his feet, feeling dizzy and hot. His adrenalin was pumping through his blood like boiling water. He backed away, staring at Potter, who seemed to have gone crazy with rage. Even his little friends, Weasel and Mudblood, were gaping at him. The whole Great Hall seemed to have gone silent.

Draco quickly brushed himself off. Goyle and Crabbe had once again materialized behind him, as they had learned to do when there was trouble, but Draco lifted a hand to indicate that they shouldn't beat the snot out of Potter. Yet.

Draco lifted his head in a dignified way and said loudly, "Well, now, I see that we understand each other."

Then he turned briskly and walked back to his table, not daring to look back. He paused only to wipe his buttery hand off on the folds of Goyle's robe.


	4. In Which Snape Departs

**__**

The Hogwarts Boy's Guide

Chapter Four: In Which Snape Departs, Draco Accuses Harry Of Stalking Him, And Harry Makes A Considerably Large Discovery (But Not As Significant A One As In The Next Chapter…)

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Warnings: Slash, some swearing, sexual situations. 

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Author's Note: It's a long chapter, just like _Eadon_ requested...:) To respond to a few comments and answer some questions: Thanks for the compliment _Lildarlin_; and don't be silly, of course I wouldn't stop writing just because my boyfriend doesn't like it. _Daft Bugger_, the roles are only temporarily switched. I think Harry is generally a nice guy and I wanted to make sure I gave him ample reason to do what he's about to do to Draco (poor Draco...). _Aylm, _if you mean to ask do I update the older version of this story (Slide) the answer is no. This is the new version, and this is the one I'll be finishing. That same answer goes to _GaBrIeLa2_. Thanks for the super long review, _Calamity, _it was very much appreciated. To everyone else, thanks for your encouraging reviews, and the helpful corrections. I'm glad that most of you are enjoying the new version, and I hope you like what's to come. And please keep reviewing and telling me what you think! Don't be shy! Even criticism is appreciated. 

And of course, thanks to Lunadeath, who gets a million points because she betaed this is a matter of a few hours!!

****

Draco was torn. Half of him wanted to have Potter's hide for not only threatening him, but also managing to turn Draco's entire revenge scheme around on him. Well, not exactly. People _were_ still gossiping like mad about Potter's deviant sex life. But they were also gossiping about what had happened in the Great Hall that morning. God, he'd even heard someone say:

"It was so…intense between them. I wonder if Malfoy is the one who wrote that stuff about Harry in that Notebook."

Gods!!! How could anyone think that? That was so completely wrong AND unlikely.

Well, anyway, he preferred not to think of it. Images of he and Potter gallivanting around in dark corridors, sneaking kisses and copping feels from one another were not the type of visions he needed to be dancing about in his head at the moment. He had a massive headache as it was.

But really, hearing that comment had only sunk in Potter's threats deeper. Potter had threatened to ruin Draco's reputation. Draco was beginning to see how startlingly easy that might be, seeing how EAGER people were for gossip. They'd believe anything if given even a smidgen of proof.

That was why Draco was feeling uneasy seated just a few feet in front of Potter in first period Potions. He could hear Potter talking behind him in a hushed voice to the Mudblood. Occasionally he would pick up a snippet of conversation and be tempted to make a snide remark, a cutting comment. 

But he kept his mouth shut.

As much as he lamented admitting it, he was just a little afraid of Harry Potter now. He'd royally pissed him off, as Potter had made clear this morning. There was no telling what that queer might do if even slightly provoked.

Harry noticed that Snape's first period Potions class was awfully quiet. For once, everyone was diligently brewing their potions, speaking occasionally in low voices, but more often just silently doing their work. Snape seemed to be enjoying the quiet immensely. He was looking almost pleasant as he sat at his desk grading their last night's homework with a large quill that was dripping red ink. 

Another thing Harry noticed was that Malfoy had not said a single word to him since the incident at breakfast. After Harry had gone off on him, Malfoy had returned to his seat and not cast even a single glance in Harry's general direction. He'd arrived to Potions a bit late, looking distracted, and sat once again in front of Harry. But he hadn't been up to his normal tricks. There had been no scathing looks. There had been no comments, no whispered jokes to the other Slytherins. Nothing.

Malfoy was acting as though Harry didn't exist.

"It's great, isn't it," Hermione said quietly, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"What is?" Harry asked.

"This!" Hermione gestured with her hands, both of which were filled with boiling tubes of sparkling purple liquid. "The peace and quiet. Malfoy hasn't said one single word to you all class period!"

"Mmm, I suppose you're right…" Harry said.

"You must have really gotten through to him this morning. But honestly, the way you were right in his face and practically strangling him…" Hermione poured both vials into the cauldron, after which a minor explosion occurred followed by billowing red smoke, "I don't know. I wouldn't mess with you either, after that."

"Yeah…"

Hermione set down the empty tubes and handed Harry a spoon to stir the potion with.

"Harry," she said, "What's with the sulky attitude. You should be thrilled!"

"Oh, I am," Harry said quickly. 

His eye darted forward, and he watched momentarily as his blonde rival sullenly concocted his potion in front of him. Draco's head was bowed in concentration. His hand was on his book, his finger marking his place. He seemed unaware of Harry's existence

"It's just that it seems rather _too_ quiet now. If you know what I mean," Harry finished.

Hermione wrinkled her nose, "Harry are you feeling all right? Don't tell me you actually _miss_ Malfoy badgering you!"

"Of course I don't! I just said it was quiet, was all," Harry snapped.

"Ok," Hermione said airily, "Didn't mean to get on your bad side, Harry."

Harry sighed, "I know. Sorry."

The two were quiet after that. Not even Ron was in a chatty mood. He and Neville were working very hard at figuring out why their potion was producing shinny, black bubbles when everyone else's potions were simmering quietly.

Harry looked at his watch. Class was almost over. He glanced back up at Malfoy for a second before he realized what he was doing. He quickly looked away, but there really was not point. Malfoy hadn't seen him looking. Malfoy wasn't paying Harry any mind.

So. It had worked. He had scared Malfoy away. He probably wouldn't have to worry about him for a long time. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry for the rest of the school year. Then they'd both graduate and probably never see each other ever again.

Harry knew that thought should have given him some satisfaction, but it didn't. Instead he felt empty. He felt…bored.

It was boring without Malfoy to banter with. It was boring without the constant flare-ups that occurred whenever the two boys were within speaking distance of each other. Class just seemed rather dull without Malfoy. Even though he was still there, sitting not two feet in front of Harry, it felt like he was missing.

Harry checked his watch again. Ten minutes until class was over. Hermione announced that their potion was done. She poured a sample into a glass tube and corked it, and brought it up to Snape's desk. When she came back, she pulled out her notes for their next class and began reviewing. Harry began to clean up their things. As he was taking their cauldron up to the front to wash it out, the door to Snape's dungeon flew open and a nervous looking House Elf staggered in.

Snape's head immediately snapped up.

"What can I do for you?" he asked the Elf in a booming voice.

The little House Elf trembled and slunk forward like a dog about to be punished.

"Fifi is sorry to interrupt, Sir," the House Elf whispered, revealing itself to be of the female gender. "Mr. Dumbledore has sent Fifi with an important message for Mr. Snape. Mr. Dumbledore says Fifi must deliver it as soon as possible, even if it means interrupting his class. Fifi is very sorry, Sir. Fifi must heave herself off of a tall cabinet as punishment for being bad, Sir."

"That won't be necessary. Please give me the message," Snape said, drawing himself out of his chair.

"Oh! Sir is kind to Fifi! So kind! Fifi does not deserve such kindness. Fifi must bathe in frigid lake water until she turns blue and -"

"Oh, for goodness sake," Snape groaned, snatching the folded piece of parchment from her tiny hands. 

Harry watched as Snape read over the letter. Nothing in his expression revealed what may have been written there, but Harry was betting it was something important. A few of the students were also watching the professor with curiosity.

Snape crumpled the letter up and held out his palm. The note promptly burst into blue flames and was gone.

"Class is dismissed early," he said suddenly.

Everyone gasped in shock. 

Snape was already pulling his large, winter cloak around him and gathering his things from off his desk.

"By Monday I want a fifty inch essay from all of you on the importance measurement in brewing potions. Cite all your sources or it's an automatic failure," he said, and with that, he swept towards the door, ushering Fifi along with him, and was gone.

"Woohoo!" was the general consensus.

"Can you believe it?" Ron asked, "What luck! Do you think he'll be absent for DADA too?"

Hermione, Ron and Neville gathered up their things and went out of the room chattering happily about how to spend their extra ten minutes of free time. Harry fell behind, however. 

He couldn't help feeling as though something was not quite right about the day. It had certainly started off badly…and he felt it would soon be getting worse…

"Where do you think Snape could have gone?" Draco asked. He was walking down the hall away from the DADA classroom with Goyle later that morning. Crabbe had scrambled off to the little boys room seconds before.

Goyle looked thoughtfully at his chocolate, multi-colored sprinkle cupcake that he'd mysteriously produced from his pockets moments ago. He shoved the entire confection into his mouth. 

"Muhbee he's haffin' an affair with Mumblemore," Goyle said with his mouth full.

Draco scowled at him. "You are such a pig. And I don't mean because of how you eat."

"Why do you care?" Goyle said, swallowing his food, "It got us out of DADA with those stupid Gryffindor butt faces. You should be glad."

"Well, I'm not! I'm concerned," Draco said.

"You know what you should be concerned about? Harry Potter. If you keep letting him get close to you like he did this morning you…you could get AIDS," Goyle said with a genuine look of concern.

Draco looked heavenward and shook his head. "Honestly, Goyle, you can't get-" but he stopped himself. It wasn't worth it to try and explain. 

"Anyway," Draco continued, "I haven't been _letting_ him get close to me. That filthy faggot keeps assaulting my person. I find it revolting."

"Yeah, well, you should still be careful. I heard of this one guy who…"

Before Goyle could finish his story, Snape appeared in the hallway in front of them. He was moving quickly through the almost deserted hallway. His cloak was still on and was now coated in a light dusting of snowflakes.

"There you are," he said as he approached them. He paused to glower down at Goyle. 

"I need to have a private word with Mr. Malfoy," he said.

Goyle took the hint and lumbered off, presumably to find Crabbe so that they could get up to mischief during their free period.

"Follow me," Snape said, and he gestured to the empty classroom.

Once they were in, Snape shut the door and faced Draco. Worry was etched into the creases in his face. 

"I have to leave for a while," he said matter-of-factly.

Draco's mouth dropped. "What? Why?"

"It is not a matter I can discuss with you, I'm sorry to say. I'm afraid I'm not to confide in anyone," he said with a sigh. "I _wish_ I could tell you."

Draco felt the hairs on his arms suddenly stand up, and gooseflesh rose up on his skin.

"This has something to do with me," Draco said after a moment of meaningful silence.

Snape didn't respond.

"It does, doesn't it!" Draco demanded, "Is it about my father? Are they…are they going to get him out?"

Snape shook his head, "I'm deeply sorry, Draco. I wish that I could confess my purpose in leaving to you, but as it is, I have been sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore? Then he put you up to this. It's not about my father then," Draco said slowly, watching Snape's face carefully. Snape's eyelid twitched. "Or is it! Dumbledore is not sending you to capture my father, is he? It's nothing like that, is it? Please, Severus. You have to tell me. If not I'm going to worry."

"I cannot-"

"Don't give me that!" Draco exploded, "Over the past two years you and I have become close. I've confided in you time and time again things I would confess to no one else. And you've told me things about yourself that I'm positive you wouldn't tell another soul!"

Draco dropped his voice to a whisper, "I know that you're working for both sides, Sev. Just tell me which side your on at the moment. _Please. _You owe me this."

Snape's face softened, and for a moment, Draco was sure he was going to tell him. Then he straightened himself up, and a look of purpose came over his face, cooling his expression. He looked away from Draco, suddenly shy of making eye contact. When he spoke, he looked just over Draco's shoulder.

"I will ask you to accept that my silence is necessary. I hope to see you soon," he said.

And then he walked right out of the classroom.

Draco stood for a moment, stunned. Then all his worries and fears came rushing at him. Snape was leaving on a mission for Dumbledore. Was it really possible that it had something to do with his father, Lucius? Would they…could they get him out of prison? Was his father coming home? And if so, would wizards be there waiting for him? What would they do to him?

Of course, it could have had nothing to do with his family. Snape could be going to a top secret teachers convention, for all Draco knew.

But he didn't really believe that. He couldn't.

Somewhere, deep in his heart (for he did have one, contrary to what Potter thought), Draco felt that whatever was going on wasn't good. Draco trusted his intuition, it hardly ever failed him.

For once in his life, Draco sincerely hoped he was wrong.

****

"Wow! No Snape again! Could we get any luckier?" Ron asked, skipping down the hall like a moron.

"This will give me time to start on my Astronomy project," Hermione said.

"That's not even due until the end of the semester," said Ron with a disgusted look on his face.

"Oh, fine. I guess you don't want to join me in the library to start our research then," Hermione said breezily. She secretly cast Harry a meaningful look.

Ron immediately stopped scowling at her. "Oh, y-you wanted me to go to the library? With you?"

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Well, er, I suppose an early start couldn't hurt, now that I think about it…" Ron said, falling back and beginning to walk in step with Hermione.

"Harry, would you like to join us as well?" Hermione asked.

But Harry had taken his invisible cue from her, and he politely declined, saying he ought to get some rest before Quidditch practice that night. Hermione smiled at him and turned back to Ron.

"I guess it's just me and you, Ron," she said. Ron flushed with pleasure.

"Oh, what do you know? I think I forgot my text in the DADA room. I better go get it before Filch locks the room up. I'll see you guys at dinner?" Harry said.

"Maybe. I'm not really hungry," Ron said quickly.

"See you later, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry turned around and headed back the way they'd come. When he was far enough away, he peeked back at Hermione and Ron. They were both walking close to each other, talking animatedly. Harry watched as Ron casually draped one arm over Hermione shoulder and slipped her books under the other. The turned the corner and their voices faded away down the hall.

Harry smiled in a bittersweet sort of way. It was obvious to him what was happening between Ron and Hermione. They had started to spend a lot of time alone, studying or just hanging out. And he often caught one staring at the other during classes. He was thrilled about it, of course. He'd always thought they would make a good couple, and he was glad that they were starting to realize it as well.

But, well…it made him feel a bit left out. Not just because they'd started to hang out with out him, but because he feared that they had something that he would never have. He couldn't help but notice how well they complimented each other. They understood each other's jokes perfectly, and they laughed with each other in a way that made it seem as though they were sharing a secret joke that was only between them. They both seemed to glow when the other was around. They basked in the others company. They seemed almost radiant with what was growing between them. What they had was so pure and perfect; Harry couldn't help but be jealous.

When would it be his turn to find something like that?

Harry was roused from his musing by the sound of a door slamming shut. He looked up to see Snape exiting the DADA classroom. He seemed in a hurry, and for once he paid absolutely no mind to Harry. He simply whisked past him with a distant look on his face.

Hmm, what was that all about? And why wasn't Snape teaching his class when he was obviously still around?

Unless he wasn't going to be around for much longer. Judging from his heavy cloak and the speed of his movement, it was quite possible that he was leaving. But to where? And to do what?

Harry was still standing in the hall when the door opened again. This time he was shocked to see Malfoy slinking out of the door, looking equally as pensive as Snape. In fact, he began walking and, seeming not to see him, bumped right into Harry.

His cold, gray eyes snapped up.

"Watch where you're going, Potter," he snapped.

"You walked into me!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well, I wouldn't have if you hadn't been stalking me. Go away, Potter, I've seen about enough of you today."

"I'm not stalking you."

"Really? Then what are you doing here? Class is over, or weren't you informed?"

"Get off it, Malfoy. Why on earth would I be stalking _you_?" Harry asked, feeling embarrassed by the accusation.

Malfoy cocked his head to the side and said, "I don't know, Potter. You have been seeming rather interested lately."

Harry was shocked. He barley managed to stammer, "W-what?" before Malfoy had adopted his usual arrogant smile. Malfoy took a step towards Harry, closing the distance between them.

"You really can't blame me for thinking it, can you? I mean, we all know about you. We all know what you are," Malfoy spat.

Harry couldn't speak. He was too angry. Too afraid. No one had ever confronted him about his sexuality before. Not face to face like this. He'd never had to defend himself in that way before.

"I wonder," Malfoy continued, "What your parents would think. What would Lily and James Potter say if they knew their little boy was a fag?"

That did it. Malfoy had voiced Harry's biggest fear out loud. He felt like Malfoy could see right through him, to the most painful things he harbored inside him. 

Reacting blindly, he reached out and took hold of Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy was taller than Harry, but Harry had more bulk. He was easily twice as strong as Malfoy. He shoved Malfoy against the wall and was on him in a second. He pressed his body against him, pressing Malfoy back with an arm across his upper chest.

Malfoy was breathing quickly, but he was still grinning. God, did Harry want to wipe that smile off his face.

"Did I touch a nerve, Potter?" Malfoy laughed.

"Fuck you!" Harry yelled, ramming his arm the Slytherin's chest. He heard the satisfying noise of the air rushing of Malfoy's lungs.

"I told you to stop messing with me," Harry said.

"Seriously, Potter. What are you going to do? Rape me?" Malfoy asked breathlessly.

Harry pressed his body hard against Malfoy's, making sure he could feel him. He could defiantly feel Malfoy; the whole long, lean length of his body.

"Just don't underestimate me," Harry growled. "You can only push me so far."

Suddenly, the muscles in Malfoy's body shuddered. Harry felt a rush of power. He'd made the bastard tremble. Though Malfoy's face remained impassive, Harry relaxed, knowing his message had gotten through. Before Malfoy could say anything more, Harry tore away from him and walked away, making sure he disappeared from Malfoy's sight.

Once alone, Harry heaved a sigh of relief. To think, only a few hours ago he'd been _missing_ his confrontations with Malfoy!

"Harry, would you please eat something? It's not healthy to skip meals."

"I'm not hungry."

"Please, Harry! For the love of Merlin, just eat something to shut her up!"

Hermione swatted at Ron playful. He caught her hand and held onto it a minute.

"Please Harry? So we don't have to get lectured for the rest of the night?" he asked.

Harry frowned at his dinner. He stabbed holes in his mashed potatoes with his fork.

"I'm never going to eat again," Harry said bluntly. He continued to look pitiful.

"What's the matter? Did practice go badly or something?" Hermione asked, her face contorting with concern.

Harry shook his head.

"Yeah, it went fine," Ron confirmed. "We made up this great new play that's really gonna-"

"Harry, tell us. We're your friends. You're supposed to come to us when you're having problems. Is this about Sirius?"

Harry winced at the sound of that name.

"Is it, then?" Hermione insisted.

Harry said nothing for a moment. Then he murmured something unintelligible.

"What's that?"

"I said…I said what do you think Sirius would think of me if...if he knew? What would my parents think? Would they be…"

Harry broke off, unable to say the rest. Tears were already threatening. He could feel them, hot and thick, bubbling from the corners of his eyes.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, then back at Harry. Ron dropped his fork and it clanked heavily on the table. They both moved forward, and Hermione grabbed Harry's hands.

"Harry, listen to me. Those people loved you. They would _never_ think anything bad about you. They would have supported you all the way."

Harry was staring blankly in front of him, his eyebrows drawn together.

"They'd be ashamed of me," he whispered.

"No! No, they wouldn't!" Ron exclaimed.

"They'd be proud of you," Hermione said, "I mean, facing up to the most volatile wizard to ever live is pretty good. But coming out, however unintentional it may have been, that took guts."

Harry had to crack a grin, even if it was tiny, and caused one of his tears to spill over. He quickly brought his sleeve to his cheek; wiping it away so fast it was as if it was never there.

"I guess," he said.

"It did, Harry. You're braver than all of the Gryffindors put together for that. James and Lily would have been proud to say that you were their son. And Sirius loved you no matter what. You know that."

Harry just nodded, looking down with his hair dangling in his eyes. He sniffled and pushed his chicken leg around his plate with his fork.

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you thinking that just now?" Hermione asked.

"Just something someone said…"

"What? Who? Who said that to you?" Ron fumed.

"Er…" Harry muttered. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted to say. It was bad enough that Malfoy had quite literally made him cry (Oh God, oh God, he did not just admit that). But to have them know, well that just made it somehow worse. He didn't want Malfoy to be able make him feel like shit. He didn't want Malfoy to have any sort of power over him.

He didn't want his friends to know that Malfoy had power over him. They'd want to protect him, and he didn't want that. He didn't want to need their protection. He wanted to be strong.

But he felt so weak. Malfoy was getting to him. Malfoy was getting inside him. It was scary. And it made him want to hurt Malfoy really badly. Not physically hurt. No, that wasn't good enough. He wanted to hurt him mentally. He wanted to fuck him up from the inside out.

But he didn't know how to do that.

"Harry…who said it?" Ron demanded. He had gone red in the face. "I swear I'll pound the living shit out of whoever had the guts to-"

"Ron! Please. I can fight my own battles," Harry snapped. 

He rubbed his eyes vigorously with his shirt, nearly jostling his glasses off of his face. When he looked up, the tears were gone from his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, but dry.

"You don't know how mad this makes me. I have to hit someone now, so just tell me who I ought to be aiming for."

"No! Just…just don't, Ron. Just let this go," Harry said.

"No! That was a bloody awful thing to say to someone. Whoever it was deserves a pounding!"

"Ron, Harry asked you to let it go," Hermione said.

"Do _you_ want to let it go? Are you just going to sit around and let someone say cruel things like that and put ideas into Harry's head?"

"Malfoy didn't put it into my head. I've already thought it. He just said it out loud, is all," Harry said.

Then he clamped his mouth shut.

Too late. Ron had heard.

"Malfoy? _Malfoy_ said that? The little inbred…rat faced…stuck up…" Ron could barely speak, he was so angry.

"Ron, do not do anything to him! Do you understand me? Don't. This is for me to deal with, not you," Harry said.

Hermione was struggling to keep Ron at the table. He was pumping his firsts in the air and sputtering hateful words.

"Just one punch, Harry. Just let me shatter his nose. With any luck it'll heal funny and he'll be ugly," Ron snarled. 

"No!" Harry said a little too quickly. He directed his statement elsewhere. "No. Don't give him the satisfaction of being angry. That's what he wants."

"You're just going to let him talk to you like that?" Ron asked, his eyes bulging.

"Yeah. No. Listen, I'll get him back in my own way. Having you march over there and start a fist fight with him isn't going to do anything but get both of you detention for the rest of the year."

"So what are you going to do, then? Extract revenge by ignoring him?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do. Give me time; I'll think of something. Something good. Trust me, guys; I'm going to get him back. I just need time to come up with something bigger."

Draco Malfoy never had trouble sleeping. Not before, he hadn't, anyway. Tonight, however, the entire time he'd laid in bed, he'd been tossing, turning, scrunching up and spreading out, kicking down his blankets and pulling them up again. And all the time there'd been this little voice inside his mind nagging at him. Talking to him. Chastening him.

He'd gone too far today, and he knew it. He'd said (and done) some pretty awful things to Harry Potter before, but this defiantly topped the list. 

Somehow, before, he'd always been able to convince himself that Potter deserved every bit of hassling that Draco gave him. He told himself that it wouldn't hurt to knock Potter down a few pegs. Merlin knew Potters' head was far too big anyway. It would do him good to be reminded that he wasn't king of the world- he wasn't even king of the school.

But tonight Draco couldn't use that defense. He'd looked into Potter's eyes far to many times in the past few days to be able to fool himself into thinking that The-Boy-Who-Lived was too strong and confident to let anything Draco said bother him. He knew Potter was hurting. He knew he was feeling vulnerable. He could somehow feel that just from being around him.

He'd kicked Potter when he was down. There was no glory in that.

Still, Draco was angry with himself for caring. Why should he care if he'd hurt Harry Potter? Hell, he should have been thrilled! He'd finally gotten to him, really gotten to him.

__

Why didn't it feel good? How come every time he pictured the hurt in Harry's eyes, he felt sick to his stomach?

Finally tired of thrashing about in his bed, listening to his conscience babble on, Draco got up. He pulled on his silky green robe with the silver dragon on the back and crept down to the common room. There he sat before the dying embers of the fire, watching the hour grow later. He worried fleetingly that he'd be tired in classes tomorrow but then he remembered that Snape was gone, and his class would be taught by a substitute, presumably. He'd just get some sleep then, instead of completing the busy-work they were sure to be bothered with.

Suddenly the scene with Snape that morning unfolded in his memory. He remember the distinct feeling that the little bit of hesitation Snape seemed to feel was only the tip of the iceberg. He had a feeling something much bigger was going on.

Too bad he had no idea what. 

He wondered if he should write to his mother and try to see if anything was going on. It would be tricky though. He couldn't ask outright if his father was coming home, because there was always the chance the letter could be intercepted and read, in which case the breakout would be stopped.

Of course, Snape could be on his way to put a stop to it that very moment.

Draco felt dizzy. He was tired and overly emotional. Yet he couldn't find solace in sleep. He just wished he could find some answers to his questions. That would bring him at least a small bit of peace.

Then he started to think that maybe he_ could _find some answers. All he needed to know was where to look.

And he suddenly had a very good idea about where to start…

Harry couldn't sleep. He was curled in a ball in the center of his bed feeling very small and miserable.

He tried to recall memories of himself being brave. He tried to remember how it felt to be fearless. But he couldn't. He couldn't remember. All that he felt was anxiety and shame. 

__

'What your parents would think. What would Lily and James Potter say if they knew their little boy was a fag?'

Malfoy's face swam before his. Harry tossed to the side, squeezing his eyes shut, pulling his pillow over his head. But he still saw him, still heard his words. Still saw his cocky, triumphant smile. Why couldn't Harry just forget it? Why did it have to be such a big deal? Why did it hurt so much?

And why couldn't Malfoy just leave him alone? For once. Why did he have to make everything ten times harder than it had to be?

One day all the torture Malfoy put him through would make him stronger. He'd grow thicker skin over the wounds he'd been inflicted with. He would mend himself, tougher than he used to be. But before he was fixed, he had to be broken.

Realizing that sleep was not going to come to him that night, Harry got up. He pulled a red t-shirt over his bare chest and yanked a pair of flannel pajama pants over his boxers. Then he pulled up the lid of his trunk and gently unwrapped his invisibility cloak.

Harry swirled it over his head and let it fall over him, washing him out. Then he slunk out of his room, out of the portrait hole and into the school. He wandered around a bit, following random staircases that disappeared behind him, going through doorways that sealed up into walls, not having any specific place to go. He was just wandering, thinking.

At least he was until he heard footsteps up ahead of him. He instinctively jumped into the shadows, although already invisible. Then he dashed ahead, using a technique of light, silent padding that he'd perfected over the years. He moved down a flight of spiral stairs until he reached the bottom landing. The dank smell of fungus and the cold feeling of the stonewalls told him he was in the dungeon part of Hogwarts. He figured he must be somewhere near Snape's classroom; only on the other side of it, the side the Slytherins entered from. 

Up ahead him was a large, dark door with a silver snake in the shape of an 'S' marking it.

__

Ohmygod, he thought, _it had to be Snape's quarters! And somebody was sneaking in!_

Slowly, scarcely breathing, Harry moved forward. He stopped and watched the figure (which obviously male, he thought, noting the height and lack of breasts) jam something into the door, rattling it. The door opened. The figure was cast in a warm, candlelit glow coming from inside the room.

Harry gasped.

There, standing in the doorway in a pair of silky black pants and a long, ordinate kimono type robe, was Draco Malfoy.


	5. Crazy Feeling

**__**

Chapter Five: Crazy Feeling

__

Warnings: Naughty language, the words 'fag' and 'queer' about a zillion times, and budding homosexual relationships between our two favorite hot boys from Hogwarts (awwww)

__

Author's Notes: This chapter was really hard for me to write for some reason. I kept wondering if these characters would really do what I was writing them doing in the chapter if this were real life. In the end, I had to realize that this is a _story_, and stories dramatize real life, so it doesn't have to be the kind of thing that happens everyday. It's the sort of thing that we _wish_ would happen in everyday life (you'll see why...*evil grin*), but sadly often doesn't. So in the end, I hope this is both believable and fantastic. And most of all, I hope you enjoy...

Draco swept into Snape's room, purposely knocking a pile of books off of the coffee table. When Snape didn't come storming out of the other room to find out why Draco had broken in, he knew that his friend was really gone.

He was alone.

Draco went back to the door and shut it. He thought he heard a scrambling noise as he did so, and felt something brush against his leg. He shivered, and looked around. Mice, probably. These dungeons had a reputation for being infested with the vermin. 

Across the room, one of the chairs squeaked as if being pushed across the floor. Draco's head snapped over. Again, there was nothing there. He shook his head. He was being paranoid. 

He paused briefly, not sure where to start. He decided on the most obvious place, and went over to Snape's desk. He opened the drawers, riffling through the spare bottles of ink, quills, and other stationary. The lower drawers were filled with parchment. It was mostly un-graded homework. As Draco flipped through the pages, he came upon Harry Potter's question and answer worksheet. Unable to resist, he paused to grab a quill and mark a few large, red X's through his answers. Then he gave Harry a very bad grade and smiled.

And he could have sworn he heard an outraged gasp behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but he told himself he was being silly. He was obviously the only one in this room.

He set the papers back in the drawer and moved to the next. He went though the entire desk and found nothing. Of course, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for. But somehow he knew he hadn't found it yet. He went on through the rest of the living room, checking under the sofa, behind pillows, and going through all the books on the coffee table to make sure there was no secret note from Dumbledore or anything like that tucked inside the pages.

He went through the little kitchen and the bathroom. Nothing. That left one place- the last place Draco wanted to visit. It was one thing to go through Snape's desk, utensil drawer, and his toiletry basket, but to go through his bedroom was another thing all together. It was a personal place and Draco felt his was betraying his friend- just a little. But he reminded himself that this was Snape's own fault. After all, if he'd just _told_ Draco what was going on, he wouldn't have to do this.

With that thought, he crept slowly into Snape's room. It was small and cold. The fireplace on the side of the room was out. Only one candle was lit, set up on the night stand next to Snape's black blanketed bed. Over the bed was a large tapestry depicting a bloody battle scene set in medieval times. A man would looked quite a bit like Snape, only with gray streaks through his hair and a slightly larger build was lopping the heads off of metal suited adversaries. Draco could only guess that it was some sort of family relic. When anyone would want that scene constantly playing over top of them while they were attempting to sleep, Draco didn't know. But then, Snape always had been a tad morbid.

Across the room, there was a clatter as a picture frame tumble off of Snape's wardrobe. Draco hurried over to pick it up, too concerned over the items safety to worry over what had caused it to fall. Thankfully, only the glass was cracked, and he quickly repaired it with his wand. As he took a closer look at the picture, a gasp escaped his throat. 

It was a photo of Harry and him!

No, wait. It wasn't, he realized with a sigh. It was just a picture of Snape and his father, Lucius, as children at Hogwarts. Snape's hair was shorter in the picture, though he was fingering it nervously as if not sure about the cut. He seemed to be trying to pull a strand down to cover his nose- something he'd always been self-conscious about. His father, on the other hand, was the picture of confidence. He put his arm around Snape and puffed his chest out protectively. He looked a bit like a mother hen, standing over Snape and flashing a pompous smirk, an expression which Draco had learned to mirror at a very young age.

Funny, now that he looked at the photo, it looked nothing like Harry Potter and himself. He told himself that it had been the coloring of the two students, the dark and the light together, that had made him think so. But deep down, he wondered if it had been something else…

Shoving those thoughts out of his head, he forced himself to remember the task at hand. He opened the wardrobe, shoving Snape's collection of identical black robes and slacks aside. He dug through a stack of black sweaters, sticking his hand between each set of two. He fingers touched something hard and smooth in a rectangular shape. He grasped it and pulled it out.

It was a collection of scratchy gray parchment papers bound by a dark, snake scale cover. A journal.

Draco went and sat on Snape's bed and opened the book. A feeling of uneasiness spread over him as he scanned over the pages. He didn't quite understand what everything meant, but from what he could see, a series of potion recipes containing the same ingredients in different orders and amounts were scrawled over the pages. What disturbed him was his recognition of most of the ingredients. They were not ones he'd learned in school, but rather at home. The were ingredients that had dark properties. And there were lots of them.

He read on, flipping through the pages. The same ingredients over and over. On each page, written in blood red was the word 'Failed'. It seemed like Snape was trying to create a potion for which he had no directions. But why?

Then he came upon a page with a scrap of purple paper glued to it. It was typed, and appeared to have been ripped from a book.

__

Essence of Thestral's scale is often used in potions that weaken the magical system in some types of elves, goblins, and other smaller type magical creatures. In large doses, it had been known to completely rob a magical creature of all abilities. The creature is left confused, weakened, and almost powerless. Insanity often follows. Essence of Thestral's Scale is a type three banned substance.

Draco read it over and over, wondering what it meant. He'd never heard of anything like that. He flipped back through what he had read before and saw that Essence of Thestral's Scale was one of the main ingredients in all the variations of the potion Snape was working on. Snape was obviously making a substance that was very illegal. But Snape had said himself that he was working for Dumbledore.

Why would Dumbledore have Snape working on an illegal potion? And one that he didn't even know how to create? Was it possible they were trying to create some kind of new potion? 

Draco suddenly felt something on his back. It felt like fingertips, icy cold ones laying right against his spin. He leapt up, dropping the journal. He looked about widely, but saw nothing. Still, he knew what he'd felt. He hadn't imagined it. Something was in here.

"Peeves? Is that you?" he asked. There was no answer. The room was still.

But he couldn't shake the feeling he had. He was now thoroughly creeped out. He wanted to leave _now_. He felt guilty enough as it was, and now he was hearing and feeling things.

"Hello? What's in here?" he said again.

His eyes scanned around the room. It looked as though he were alone, but felt otherwise. And he was sure he'd felt someone touch him. It hadn't felt like the touch of a ghost, either. Ghosts tended to feel like a thick, chilly fog. They left you with slight feeling of melancholy. 

What touched him had definitely been solid, and felt distinctly like fingertips. And it hadn't left him feeling sad, it'd left him feeling…well scared. But sort of good too, in a strange way. 

He looked over the room more carefully, searching for some tiny trace of what other being was there with him. He stepped closer to the bed, looking to the rumpled spot where he'd been sitting. Then his eyes slide back to directly behind where he'd been sitting. He's pulse sped up as he noticed that the bed was strangely indented. As if…

As if someone was sitting on it. Only, no one was there. Or were they…

On impulse, Draco leapt forward suddenly, tackling the indented spot in the bed. He collided with something very solid. The invisible being planted the palm of a hand between Draco's eyes. Draco roared and pounced again, grabbing at the air, catching two flailing limbs in his hands. He shoved them down to the bed, but was rocked up by the buckling body beneath him. He slide himself lower, pressing his knees together, squeezing the mysterious force below him between his thighs. Passing the two upper limbs into one hand, he used his other to skim along the being below him.

It was definitely a body. His fingers slide over a rib cage, feeling the bump of each bone, though he could see nothing. It looked like he was touching air, but he could feel his hand slide up the column of a throat, which gulped, and he felt the Adam's apple slide up and down. He cupped his fingers over the chin and moved upwards. He felt slightly flushed as he brushed over the unmistakable shape of parted lips. He touched a nose, felt the ridge of the nose piece of a pair of glasses.

Draco's heart beat faster. He closed his fist and he felt something thin and silky caught inside. It felt like he'd grabbed a handful of spiders webs. But it couldn't be that. Perplexed, he pulled more of the stuff away from the body, suddenly revealing something shinny and blue-black. Hair. Followed by pale skin, and an unmistakable zigzag scar. He pulled, tangling his hands in the cobweb fabric. He tore it down and away from what was below him.

Half a body was revealed beneath him. It was Harry Potter. He was sitting on top of Harry Potter.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Potter.

Harry had tried to be quiet. He'd grown so used to skulking about the school at night that he'd become a master of invisibility. But for some reason, trailing around the silk clad blonde boy, he's suddenly become klutzy and awkward.

He told himself it was not because of the fact that Malfoy was bare-chested, and he could see all of the lean muscle there, flexing beneath what Harry realized was truly flawless white skin. He also told himself it was not because of the range of tortured emotions Malfoy was displaying as he invaded Snape's dorm. It was obvious to Harry that Malfoy cared deeply about the man. It was stunning to see him show any sort of emotion at all. Up until that point, Harry had truly believed that Malfoy was void of feelings. But…he wasn't, Harry realized. It was fascinating.

Fascinating, but defiantly not attractive. No sir. Not in any way. Malfoy was still a hateful little bastard, and Harry would never in his life forgive Malfoy of the things he'd done to him.

Anyway, no matter what the cause, Harry had been tripping about and bumping things like a lumbering ox. He felt like a bull in a china store. He just couldn't manage being graceful. The worst was when he'd went to look at the picture on Snape's desk and completely knocked it over and broke it. Luckily, Malfoy has seemed too interested in who the picture was of to bother worrying about how it had fallen.

During the entire ordeal, Harry had been wondering just what Malfoy thought he was doing in the first place. He was obviously looking for something, but the journal he'd pulled from Snape's wardrobe was not what he'd been expecting. Intrigued, he'd followed Malfoy to the bed and attempted to read over his shoulder. And upon trying to scoot closer, his fingers had accidentally brushed Malfoy's back through the silky robe.

Somehow, Malfoy had realized there was something behind him. Now, as a result of his careless, he was laying on his back with the blonde boy pinning him down and his face revealed.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled, outraged. "What in hell…"

"Invisibility cloak," Harry explained. He could feel Malfoy's heart beating against his chest. He struggled to remain impassive at the realization.

Malfoy appeared to be pondering that, so Harry made his move. Using all his strength, he tucked up his lower body, rolling his knees up and rocking them forward. He and Malfoy rolled over the bed, with Harry landing on top. The cloak fell over Mafoy, making him part invisible.

Malfoy immediately grabbed Harry's shoulder and rolled to the side. They fell off the bed and landed with a thump. Malfoy was straddling Harry, pushing him into the cold floor.

"What are you doing down here," Malfoy huffed.

Harry rolled them over again. "I saw you. I followed you."

Malfoy planted his hands on Harry's chest and shoved. When Harry didn't budge, he unexpectedly shoved his knee into Harry's groin. Harry howled with pain and tumbled away from Malfoy. Malfoy leapt up and pushed his robe open at one side. His wand was tucked into his waistband. Trust a Malfoy to always be ready with a curse.

He shouted a spell Harry had never heard before, but he would have bet his life was Dark magic. A jet of radiant yellow magic spurted from Malfoy's wand. Harry managed to rock to his feet in time to dodge it.

Malfoy aimed again, but missed. Harry dashed out of the room, pulling his cloak over him. 

Malfoy came charging after him. Halfway through the living room, by sheer dumb luck Malfoy managed to get his foot on the corner of the cloak. Harry cried out in surprise as he pitched forward and fell to the floor. 

Malfoy picked up the cloak and flung it away.

"Ha!" he said, and aimed.

Harry was digging up his pant leg, tugging at his socks. He whipped out his wand, which he always slept with…just in case, you know? He rolled onto his back and pointed it at Malfoy.

He cast a spell that would have magnified Malfoy's head to roughly the size of a pumpkin, but unfortunately it missed. Drat. The spell would have been perfect for the big-headed prat.

Malfoy looked surprised, but only momentarily. As Harry stood back up, Malfoy shot a series of curses at him. One hit him square in the face. Harry stumbled back, waving a hand franticly in front of himself.

"I can't see! You…you blinded me!" he screamed, horrified.

He heard Malfoy chuckle, and shuffle farther away. Probably heading toward the door. Blind or not, Harry was not letting him get away. Not before he got a hold of that journal anyway. From what he had seen of it, the contents looked highly illegal. Harry was sure Dumbledore would be interested and having a look at what Snape had hidden in his closet.

Harry charged forward, running smack into the back of the couch. He somersaulted over it and land on his ass on the floor, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He shouted a few spells and aimed wildly, hoping to hit Malfoy by pure good fortune.

"Geez, Potter, don't you ever give up?" Malfoy groaned.

Harry jumped to his feet, cocked his head and smiled. "Nope."

He ran towards the sound of Malfoy's voice, realizing with glee that his sight was coming back. The darkness in front of him faded to gray, and shapes became visible. So it was only temporary then. Not Dark magic after all. Hmm.

Harry saw a tallish shape scrambling towards a large, dark hole. He aimed his wand and fired a paralyzing spell. 

"Arg! My arm," Malfoy yelped.

Harry sight was nearly back to normal. He saw Malfoy holding his limp arm, his wand lying on the floor. Bull's-eye!

Harry charged toward the wand, but just before he reached it, Malfoy bent over and headbutted him in the stomach. Harry fell to the floor.

"Ow! You crazy bastard!" 

Malfoy grinned as if he'd been complimented. He shook off his lame hand and wiggled his fingers. Damn, it was wearing off too quickly! Malfoy reached down and grabbed his wand, then dashed through the doorway.

Harry stood up. "Oh no you don't!" he said, and ran back to gather up his cloak. 

Holding it to his side, with his wand outstretched, he followed Malfoy out into the hallway. He was already scrambling up the stairs, his robe fluttering out like bat wings. The stairway lit up green and red as Harry shot more curses after him. They hit the mossy stone walls and exploded in sparks. 

Harry ran up the stairs, taking then two at time. He caught up with Malfoy and tackled him from behind. The two crashed to the floor, with Malfoy in some what of a bear hug, Harry's arms locked around his hips. Harry flung him over, shoving him flat down onto the floor.

"What were you doing in Snape's room?" he demanded. "And why isn't Snape in there?"

"Snape is gone."

"Where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Malfoy smirked.

"What in Snape's journal?"

Malfoy grinned wider.

Harry titled his head and sneered back, "Fine, I'll find out myself."

With that, Harry stuck his hands down Malfoy's pants. Malfoy's eyes bugged and his breath hitched. Harry came up with the snakeskin covered book. He stood up and jumped over Malfoy and raced down the hall.

"Potter! Give it back, you bloody little…" Draco stammered as he took off after the black haired punk.

He was right at Potter's tail, but Potter was giggling like mad, as if sure he was going to get away. Malfoy's heart was thumping like crazy, not just from the chase, but from the contact with Potter. His skin _burned_ from where the boy had lain on him seconds before. Not to mention what had briefly happened in his nether regions when Potter had shoved his fingers down Malfoy's pajama bottoms. 

No time to think about that now, though. He had to get the journal back. He had a feeling that whatever was in there wouldn't do to be passed around from person to person. Dark magic wasn't taken lightly in this school.

Without warning, Potter came to a complete halt. Draco charged right into him and fell back. 

"Shit. Filch!" Potter mumbled, and began to struggle with the silver cape at his side.

Sure enough, Draco could hear foot steps pounding down the hall.

"Who's there?" came Filch's gravelly voice, "I hear ya! I've got you now!"

Mrs. Norris meowed happily. Around the corner, lantern light warmed the dark stone walls. 

Draco looked to Potter, who gave him a triumphant grin.

"Sorry, Ferret. You're on your own," he said, and disappeared beneath his cloak. 

"Like hell I am," Draco growled, and moved towards where Potter had been standing a moment before.

To his surprise, Potter was still there. Draco pounced on him, clawing at the cloak.

"I hear you, you little brat! Don't bother trying to hide!" Filch called. His voice was getting closer.

Draco and Potter wrestled each other to the floor. Draco managed to yank up a liquid-y corner of the cloak. Potter looked livid and was about to say something when Draco shoved his hand over his mouth and lowered himself on top of him. He yanked the cloak over bother of them just as Filch came running into their portion of the hall.

His light shone over the walls, and Draco worried briefly that they would cast a shadow, but he quickly noticed they didn't. It felt strange to watch Filch looking around blindly, clearly perplexed, when Draco could see himself and Potter perfectly fine.

Potter's eyes were glowing angrily. He looked murderous and his body was tense under Draco's. Draco shifted uncomfortably, trying not to feel every curve and angle of Potter's body under his. 

"Where are ya? I know you're here somewhere!" Filch said, but he sounded uncertain.

He turned around in a circle, and Mrs. Norris sniffed around. She came terrifyingly close to where he and Potter lay against the wall, but mercifully didn't seem to sense them. After what seemed like hours, Filch finally heaved a sigh of defeat. Muttering to himself, he turn around and lumbered back the way he came. Slowly, his light disappeared down the corridor.

Soon the only noise Draco could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat rushing in his ears. He looked back down and realized he still had his hand clamped over Potters lips. He yanked it away quickly, as if he'd been burned.

"Damn it, Malfoy, you cow. Get off. You're killing me."

"Good," Draco said, slightly put off by the insult. 

He put his hands to either side of Potter's head and meant to push himself up when a certain glint in Potter's eye caused him to pause.

A smile slide onto Potter's lips. 

"What? What is it?" Draco asked.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Draco's mouth dropped. He shook his hair into his face so that Potter couldn't see him blushing. He got to his feet, as did Potter. 

"No, it was not," Draco said, brushing himself off. "In fact, Potter, you're a bit of a cold fish."

With that, he snatched Snape's journal from Potter's hands and dashed down the hall. Potter didn't chase him.

So Malfoy had a sense of humor. Imagine that.

Harry was musing about the night before as he walked down the dark hallway to breakfast. He was alone, Hermione and Ron having both somewhat suspiciously having slept in. The two were now headed to the showers to 'get ready', although Harry wasn't sure that was the whole of their plans judging from the sly smile Hermione wore, and the shocked glee on Ron's face.

Rather than think about _that_, Harry chose to fill his mind with memories of last night. He saw the way it looked to have Malfoy perched on top of him. To see his light eyes framed by shadows, and his slight pointy chin jutted out above him. He remember thinking, rather inappropriately at the time, that he could see up Malfoy's nose. For some reason, that made him happy. Malfoy wasn't so tough when you had seen up his nose.

Harry caught himself grinning as he entered the Great Hall. He wiped the smile off his face, feeling a stab of panic. He should _not_ be smiling while thinking about Malfoy. Absolutely not.

Harry entered the Great Hall and strode across the room to his spot at the table. He glanced up at the enchanted ceiling. The gray sky was quickly turning pinkish-purple, and the misty clouds in the sky were starting to fade away. It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought.

He slipped into his seat, and looked around at the empty chairs around him- the places where Hermione and Ron sat were abandoned. Harry tried not to sigh, but he couldn't help it. He felt the rather bittersweet emotion that came with being alone.

Suddenly, someone slipped into the seat next to him.

"Hey, that seat is tak- Luna?" Harry sputtered.

It was Luna Lovegood, indeed, committing crimes against fashion in her own, unique way, as always. She seemed to be going for a pirate look, with red scarf tied around her head, dread locks in her hair, and one gold hoop through her ear. She smiled dreamily at Harry and waved. 

"Hello, Harry. I haven't talked to you in a long time," she said, tossing her hip length dreads behind her back. The beads entwined in her braids clinked together.

"Yeah," Harry said, embarrassed because he'd sort of started to ignore her after fifth year. He knew it wasn't nice but sometimes she was just too…well too weird.

"And I wish this meeting was under better circumstances," she finished.

"Huh?"

Luna produced a booklet of papers from out of her top and laid it before Harry. It was a sort of newspaper, and it said '_The Hogwarts Gossiper'_ on the top.

"What's this?"

"It's an underground newspaper I've been creating for the past few years," she said proudly, then frowned, "Well, I don't do as much work on it as I used to. I took some extra classes this year and I've been busy with homework. So I hired some students to help me work on it. Colin Creevy takes photographs, and Pansy Parkinson sometimes writes a gossip column. Who's dating who, and all that."

"Well, no offence Luna, but I'm not really interested in that sort of thing…"

"Oh, but I think you may be interested in this weeks edition," Luna said, raising her eyebrows. She nodded her head at the newspaper quickly and coughed, as if trying to be sure the newspaper wouldn't notice she was talking about it. "I'm really sorry, Harry, because I like you and I would never have allowed this sort of article to have been printed. It's just that last night I was so busy with Advanced Herbology homework that I didn't have time to go over the submissions before this was printed."

Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach. What was Luna talking about? He picked up the paper and read the headline. 

Cho Chang Invades Boy's Shower Room; Silly Slip-up or School Scandal?

"Uh, Luna-"

"Below that."

Harry's eyes grazed lower, past the article. He froze when he saw the picture. Oh God. Oh sweet, bearded Merlin. He suddenly felt as if he couldn't get enough air. He was suffocating. 

"Harry? Are you ok, Harry? You're turning blue…" Luna said. 

"H…Has Malfoy seen this?" Harry stammered.

"Actually, I think he's seeing it right now…"

Harry looked up slowly, terrified at the thought of what might happen next. His eyes caught Malfoy's from across the room. They glimmered humorously. He looked as if he were about to leap across the room and try and strangle Harry until Goyle came running into the room.

"Draco, have you seen this? It's you and Harry! You're kissing!" he shouted, and the whole school seemed to look at Harry and Malfoy at the same time.

Draco snatched the paper from Goyle's beefy hands. He held it up to his friend's face.

"We are _not_ kissing! Look at the picture. Are our faces touching? Are they?" He screamed.

"No, but you're close."

Draco ripped to paper to shreds. Then he ripped Pansy's copy out of her hands and ripped it up as well. 

"Calm down, Draco, baby," Pansy said with a grin, "Is there something you want to tell us all concerning your sexuality?"

Draco felt the fire of rage and embarrassment flood through his body. It moved like a wave, up and down his body, settling in his stomach and leaving him with the feeling that he was going to toss up his breakfast at any moment. His chest hurt and his hands were shaking. But he would show none of that. He wouldn't.

"I am not a fucking faggot like Potter," he growled.

"That picture would suggest otherwise," Pansy sang. A group of Ravenclaws sitting near them started to laugh.

Unable to control himself, Draco's reached across the table and grabbed Pansy by the collar of her uniform. 

"Listen, Pansy. Listen well," he said, stabbing his finger at her, "Potter attacked me in the hall that day. I don't know who took that picture, but they are putting it out of context. It's not what it looks like. Do you get that? I. Am. Not. A. Fag."

"You're choking me," Pansy gasped.

"I'm going to do a lot worse if you start spreading rumors about me and Harry-Fucking-Potter!" Draco yelled, his voice fluctuating in a way he couldn't control. 

He let go of Pansy and fell back, his hands over his face. He pressed his fingers into his hot skin. He took a deep breath but it didn't help. He was so mad. He was so humiliated. He could hear people laughing, he could feel them staring. And it was Potter's fault, once again.

He removed his hands and looked up. He immediately caught Harry's eyes. Morning sunlight was streaming down around Potter like a halo, making his skin pale and his eyes twinkle. 

"Potter," he said silently, but he couldn't get out the rest of what he wanted to say.

He turned and snatched another copy of the _Hogwarts Gossiper_ from Blaise and tore it in half. Then he fled the room, no longer able to hold his emotions in check. 

"Harry? Harry, are you ok? Is there anything I can do?" Luna asked.

"No. Just…" Harry stammered, watching Draco's disappear from the room.

"I have to talk to him," he said.

Harry got up from the table, ignoring the snickers and stares. He flung up the huge doors out of the Great Hall and slipped out. Behind him, the talking and laughing grew muffled. He looked back and forth, searching for Malfoy. He caught site of the tail of his gray robe disappearing around the corner. Harry scrambled after, and saw Malfoy exit out a small door leading outside to the courtyard.

Harry followed outside, and was immediately assaulted by the bright morning light. He moved quickly through the dewy grass, stepping over puddles made by yesterday's melted snow. It was cold, but Harry wasn't thinking of that. He was thinking only of Malfoy.

He spotted him leaned against the rough stone column of the open walkway that lead from the main part of the castle to the west-wing classrooms. His head was rested against one arm, folded against the column. His hair fell over his face and his shoulders were hunched. His robes fluttered around him, and his body was quaking slightly. The fingers of his free hand played with a lose chunk of rock in one of the stone bricks.

Harry's mouth opened and shut a few times before he swallowed dryly and said Malfoy's name very quietly.

Malfoy jumped and spun around with a look of surprise of his face. Malfoy's nose was red and his cheeks splotchy, but it wasn't from the cold, Harry saw. Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Harry was too stunned to speak. 

Malfoy was…crying.

Harry felt his stomach sink lower.

"You fucking prick. You fucking-," Malfoy tried, but his voice failed him. He wiped his face with his sleeves and hung his head. "Get away from me."

"Malfoy, I'm sorry. I don't know what-" Harry began.

Malfoy raised his head and looked at Harry with such intense hatred that Harry felt his blood curdle in his veins. He had never had anyone look at him that way before, never with such intensity and revulsion.

"You're what?" Malfoy asked in a whisper.

"I said I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Malfoy repeated with a deadly calm. He took one step closer and exploded.

"You're sorry, Potter? _You're sorry!_ Fuck your apology! It means nothing to me. Nothing! Do you understand that? Now get the hell away from me or I swear to God that I will kill you."

Harry took a shaky step back, truly believing Malfoy's words. Still though, he felt he couldn't leave until he explained, at least a little. He had no idea why he felt he owed Malfoy anything, but he did. He couldn't take. He'd never done anything this bad in his life. He'd never made anyone cry. It tore him up inside.

"I had no idea this would happen," Harry blurted, "The other day in the hall I only meant to scare you away. I didn't think anyone was around. I had no idea anyone saw…or took a picture. If I had known I would never have…"

Malfoy drug his palms over his face. He was shaking his head from side to side, chewing on his lip. He looked at Harry once more.

"Did you hear them in there? Laughing? They were laughing at me! At Draco Malfoy, the queer. I'm a joke to them now," he breathed, slowly approaching Harry like a tiger about to attack.

He backed Harry against a column and glared into his eyes with burning fury. 

"That's not even the worst part, Potter," he said, "The worst part will be when my father hears of this. When he hears that his perfect, preciously son is a fag."

"What? You…you are?" Harry stammered. 

"Am I what?" Malfoy asked, narrowing his eyes.

"What you said…gay." 

Malfoy looked confused for a moment, then he backed away from Harry. "No. I…Of course not."

"But that's what you just said-"

"I don't care what I just said! I didn't mean it," Malfoy snarled. He shook his head, and backed away further. His face had paled.

Harry felt as if his entire world was unraveling at that moment. He looked at Malfoy and saw something different there. He didn't see the big man, the king of Slytherins. He saw a normal boy. A boy who was afraid of something.

Harry pushed himself away from the wall. "Maybe you are," he said.

"Shut up, Potter."

"Maybe that's why you tease me. Maybe that's why you call me names and torture me. Maybe it's because somewhere inside you, you're afraid you're just like me."

Malfoy's eyes flared murderously, "Just shut up now, Potter."

But Harry couldn't. He couldn't stop now. Everything was suddenly so clear. "All these years, I thought you were disgusted by me. But maybe you aren't. Maybe you're a fag too, Malfoy." 

"_I am not like you_," Malfoy said.

Harry moved forward predatorily. Malfoy's mouth opened, and he licked his lips nervously.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Harry swept forward in one fluid motion, and touched his lips to Malfoy's. He felt a burning rush inside him that pooled like molten lava inside his stomach. His heart was fluttering. He moved his lips over Malfoy's frozen ones, letting his hot breath trickle over them like a breeze. Then he pressed closer, feeling the softness of Malfoy's mouth on his. Malfoy didn't move, didn't respond. Harry parted his lips and ran his tongue over Malfoy's top lip. Malfoy shivered.

Then he smacked Harry right in the face.

Draco slapped Potter, and jumped away. He was horrified. Completely horrified. He looked about wildly to see if anyone had just seen what had happened. Thankfully, the courtyard was abandoned.

Potter was holding his cheek and moaning, but grinned despite himself.

"Am I that bad of a kisser?" he asked.

Draco felt a flush of heat. His lips tingled and something was stirring just south of his belly button. A crazy feeling was slowly filling Draco up. He took another step away from Potter, suddenly not trusting his own body.

He raised one finger and pointed it at Potter.

"Don't you ever, EVER touch me again. Don't ever lay a hand on me. Understand?" he roared.

"Don't lie to yourself," Potter answered cryptically.

Draco continued backing away. Potter just watched him, still massaging his quickly bruising cheek. Draco tore his eyes away and turned away. He began to pick up speed, running as fast as he could away from Potter and the strange emotions he was beginning to feel around him.

He had to find whoever printed that newspaper. He was going to set things right. He was going to fix this. And he was going to get Potter for what happened.

"Luna Lovegood?" 

Luna placed her bookmark in the book she was reading, _The Pirate Who Stole Her Heart and Booty_. She turned around and smiled.

"Well, hello there, Draco Malfoy. What can I do for you?" 

Draco pulled out a chair from the table next to her and crouched into it. He glanced at Madame Pince to be sure she wasn't listening, then back to Luna.

"I understand you run the _Hogwarts Gossiper_."

"If this is about the picture of you and Harry-"

"It is. But, look, I don't want an apology. I just need you to help me fix this," Draco said, flashing Luna his well crafted 'desperate' look.

"I don't know, Malfoy. I don't want to do anything to hurt Harry…"

Draco placed his hand over Luna's and gazed into her eyes, "Trust me Lovegood, I'm doing this to clear both our names. I just need you to write a follow up article." 

"That's all?"

"That's all. Nothing bad, just a little explanation of what really happened when that picture was taken."

Luna looked thoughtful, and said, "Well, that sounds all right, I suppose. As long as Harry agreed to this."

"Oh, _of course he did_."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah."

Luna smiled absently. "Ok. That sounds great. Why don't you meet me here tonight and we can write it together."

"Thanks, Lovegood, you're a doll," Draco said with a wink, and softly grazed her jaw with his fingertips. She flushed happily, and Draco rose. "See you tonight." 

"I'll be looking forward to it."

__

Of course you will, Draco thought as he swaggered across the room. That little act never failed him. Girls had a weakness for men that needed them.

Not that Draco ever really needed anyone. He smiled coyly to himself. He was back on the winning side.

He was back.


	6. Truth is a Whisper

**__**

Chapter 6: Truth is a Whisper

__

Warnings: Bad words, boy/boy relationship

__

Author's Note: A few of you were a bit confused by the last chapter (my fault, sorry), so I thought I would try and clear one thing up for everybody. The picture of Harry and Draco that was printed in Luna's _Hogwarts Gossiper _was taken during chapter 4, after Draco asked Harry what his parents would think if they were alive and knew that Harry was gay. Harry sort of got into Draco's personal space to threaten him, and that when the picture was taken. We don't know who took the picture, but I think we can all guess (**coughCreeveycough**). Anyway, I'm sorry that wasn't made clearer, in the future I hope this doesn't happen again.

Anyway, big thanks to LunaDeath, who, as always, finished beta'ing this in a matter of hours. Actually she gets two thanks this time, because I forgot in my last Auther's Note. So thanks, Luna! Also, thanks to the reviewers- I love to hear from you and it always cheers me up to see what you have to say. It's still amazing to me that I can write things and have people from all over the world read my words, and whats more, enjoy my stories. So thanks for the reminders that you're still reading, and still liking this.

And now onto the story:

Harry Potter was kissing Draco everywhere but on his lips. Feather-stroke soft kisses flicker up his bare chest, making him groan. As Potter's lips came closer to his nipples, the kissed turned wetter, harder, more vicious. Potter nipped him lightly, causing an electric flash of pleasure to ripple down his back and strike him somewhere low, well beyond his belly button. Draco felt magnificent and tormented at once. He needed more. _Much more_.

"Potter," he said, not sure what to ask for.

Potter's arms trailed down Draco's, and their fingers intertwined like vines, growing together so tightly that they could never be separated. Potter lifted Draco's arms above his head and tightened his fingers.

"Yes," he whispered softly into Draco's neck. He kissed his collarbone.

"Potter…"

"Say my real name," Potter said suddenly.

"What?" Draco asked, blinking.

Potter's head came up, and their eyes locked. 

"Say it."

"Har…Harry," Draco said. The name felt foreign on his lips, but lovely as well. Kind of like Harry's kiss…

"Now tell me what you want," Harry commanded in a husky voice. Their bodies were close together that they were feeding off one another's body heat. They were so near to each other, yet so far away. Draco needed Harry to be closer.

"I want you to kiss me," Draco whispered.

"Don't lie to yourself," Harry said. Why did that sound familiar?

Draco took a deep breath and angled his head forward.

"I need you to kiss me, Harry Potter. Please."

Harry smiled faintly, almost painfully, and leaned in. Their lips came together as if pulled by fate, Draco's lips parted, Harry-

Draco shoot up in bed, gasping. He was covered in sweat. He was trembling. And worst of all, he was aroused.

__

Shit.

A dream. That's all it was. Just a dream about Harry Potter. Well, worse, a dream about needing Harry Potter. But still just a dream, after all. It meant nothing. It was just nonsense. 

Draco wiped his shaking hand over his forehead and panted loudly. He slipped out of his sweat soaked sheets into the cold night air that surrounded him like a fog. He pushed aside the green curtains of his bed and stepped onto the frosty stone floor. He grabbed his robe and slipped into it, drawing his wand out of its pocket. 

"Lumos," he whispered, and looked around the room. 

Everyone was sleeping as far as he could tell. The curtains were drawn on all the beds, and outside it was a black, starless night. The hour was late, he knew, because he hadn't even gotten into bed until well after midnight. He and Loony Lovegood had been up half the night writing the article that would clear Draco's name and ruin Harry's. 

Potter's! He meant Potter. 

Gees, he was not feeling well. Anxiety pooled in his stomach like acid, eating him away. He'd dreamed of Potter. But it didn't mean anything. Did it?

__

Of course not you bloody fool, he scolded himself. _It was just one of those…uh…Freudian type dreams, was all. Everybody had weird dreams like that. It was perfectly normal._

Hoping to distract himself, Draco went to the end of his bed and pulled open his trunk. He dug under his pile of gray sweaters and silver boxers and pulled out Snape's journal. He quickly closed the trunk and climbed back into his bed, yanking the curtains shut. Then he opened the book. A little light reading should do well to put him to sleep, he mused.

He flipped through the parts he'd already looked at, reading over them. He saw words, but no meaning. It was like reading a foreign language he hadn't thoroughly mastered. He knew the words, but he couldn't put them together to create a single thought. Nothing made sense. It was gibberish.

At least until he reached the drawing. It was a crude sketch of a human form, wizard, he presumed. Inside the drawing, the veins had been illustrated in blue, and then scribbled over in black, with arrows pointing from the heart out. It seemed to be showing something flowing from the heart, to all parts of the body, clustering in the torso and head. Draco knew from his fathers' advanced wizard biology books at home, that a wizards magical powers were thought to be housed in sort of wells located in centers all up and down the spinal cord. Sure enough, those were illustrated in the drawing, and they were all scribbled black.

The top of the page said '_Stage 1_'. 

What the hell did that mean? Draco turned the page, beginning to feel uneasy. The next page had the same drawing, but the black spots on the spine had been scribbled in larger. This was Stage 2, it said. He flipped through the next few stages, from 3 to 10. In each, the black areas grew larger and larger, slowly taking over the body until, in Stage 9, the entire body was black. Then, in the tenth stage, the body was sketched only in blue. It seemed light, almost faded, and there was no black, no veins, nothing. Just emptiness.

Something about the drawings hit Draco very hard, but he couldn't figure out quite what it was. This all just struck him as being a bad omen. A very bad omen.

Draco snapped the book shut, suddenly wanting to see no more. He had the very strange feeling that he was being watched. Impossible, but that was how he felt. He quickly got up, and opened his trunk again, shoving the book back inside. He was about to climb back into bed, when the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise. He flung himself around, and found himself facing Crabbe's bed. He approached it slowly, and drew back the curtain.

Crabbe was sleeping soundly, of course, with a spot of drool glittering in his lower lip and his arm curled possessively around his pillow. Draco was about to turn away when something caught his eye. It was something on Vincent's finger. A ring of some sort.

Closer inspection showed it to be something like a Momento Mori ring. It was a little, silver skull, only it had a green snake coiled through it. It looked an awful lot like Draco's father's Dark Mark. 

Draco yanked Crabbe's curtains shut and leapt back into his own bed; suddenly needing to feel it's warmth and comfort. He climbed in, pulling the heavy blanket over his head, needing to disappear. More than anything in the world, he wanted not to be there in that moment. He wished to be far, far away from all his trouble. His troubles, which he was beginning to suspect, were only just beginning…

Harry spit his orange juice all over his eggs and strawberry muffin.

"'Potter admits to suffering from acute and uncontrollable lust, wherein he could not stop himself from attacking Malfoy and pawing at him like a bear at a honey comb'. What _is_ this rubbish? That's not what happened at all!"

"Of course not," Hermione gasped, "We know that you would _never_ willingly lay a finger on that slim ball. Why would Luna write this?"

Harry rubbed his eyes with his fingers, seeing bright spots of light on the backs of his eyelids. "I don't know. I just don't know. She seemed very sorry about all this yesterday. I don't get it."

"Look, there she is," Ron said, and stood up, "Luna! Luna, come over here!"

Luna looked up from where she was standing, talking to a very hairy boy and waved. She said a few more words to the boy and walked over to Harry and his friends. She was beaming.

"Well, how do you like it?" she asked, "Does that fix everything?"

"Fix everything? Of course not, Luna. This makes me look like a raging, hormonal monster!"

"W-what? But Malfoy said-" Luna said, her lip trembled.

"Malfoy!" Ron roared, "Malfoy put you up to this?"

Luna nodded, "He said you and he both agreed on this. He said you- Oh, how could I have been so stupid. I thought it sounded fishy, but he insisted that-"

Luna's large eyes were getting glassy and wet looking. Harry stood up and ushered her into his seat.

"It's ok, Luna. It's…it's all right. Don't worry about it."

"Harry, it is most definitely not all right. This is a disaster," Ron yelled.

"Ron, calm down," Hermione said, "Luna just made a mistake."

"Some mistake!"

"Ron…"

"It's ok. I know I'm a little air headed sometimes," Luna sobbed. Harry tried not to roll his eyes at the phrase 'a _little_ air headed'. "He just seemed so confident. He said you'd agreed to this, Harry. He promised!"

"I know, Luna."

"He promised? Don't you know that Malfoy's word isn't worth its weight in shi-"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

"What? I'm just saying what we all know. You can't trust him. He's a…a fink!"

Hermione cocked her brow, "A fink?"

"You heard me. A fink. A fraud. A phony. A snake in the grass."

"Ron, did you just say the phrase 'a snake in the grass'?"

"Ron, Hermione, please," Harry said, rubbing the bridge over his nose, "I can't think with you two bantering."

"Sorry."

"So this was all Malfoy's idea?" Harry asked Luna.

She nodded vigorously, clinking her hair beads together. She sniffled wetly. "I'm sorry. He was just so charming!"

"Right," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Harry felt a strange feeling in his stomach, but pushed it away. 

He looked back to Luna, and patted her on the back. "I'm sure he was, Luna. Anyways, you can stop crying now and be on your way. Don't worry, I'm sure this will all just blow over, and everything will get back to normal soon."

"Really?" Luna asked, blinking, and looking very much like a child waiting for someone to pat her on the head and tell her it was going to be all right, that monsters weren't real.

Too bad they were.

"Yeah, really. Now, just…go…" Harry said, helping her up.

After Luna left, Hermione turned to him sullenly. 

"Why did you tell her it would be all right, Harry? You know it won't be. This is a big deal."

"I know, I know. Don't make me feel any worse about it. I just wanted to get her out of my hair. I can't stand it when people cry." 

Again, Harry felt the strange twitching sensation deep inside him. In his mind, he could see Malfoy's pure, crystal tears tumbling down his cheeks. He could see the ruddiness of Malfoy's skin, and the honest fear and loathing in his eyes. He could see the utter beauty of the boys' emotions, which always seemed to be so carefully hidden.

__

Don't think about him like that. Think about him being a jerk. Think about what you're going to do to him to get him back. 

But Harry was at a loss. For some reason, he didn't have any passion for revenge inside him. Deep within his bones, he was weary. He was tired of these games. He simply wanted them to end.

"So what are you going to do? You're not really just going to wait for this to blow over, are you?" Ron demanded, still red faced with outrage.

Harry wished he shared that emotion. He wished he could be angry, simply and uncomplicatedly. But ever since he'd done the unthinkable and kissed Malfoy, his life was anything but uncomplicated.

Harry took off his glasses, and rubbed them on his shirt, sighing from deep within his chest. He put his glasses back on, but nothing looked clearer.

"I'm going back to bed right now, that's what I'm going to do. I need to think this through."

"Harry, you'll miss class…"

"I don't care. Tell the professors I won't be in all day. Tell them I'm sick, and I can't come to class."

"But that's a lie," Hermione insisted, aghast at what Harry was asking of her. 

Harry shook his head, "No, it's not. It's just not true in the way you're thinking," he said, and with that, he left the room.

As he lay on his bed, sunlight burning across his skin, Harry's head was overflowing with thoughts and feelings. He wished there were some way to get rid of them, to store them away somewhere so he could forget them for a while. Then, when he was ready, he could take them out and review them objectively.

Suddenly, it came to him. He could do just that. He'd just write down what he was feeling, and look it over later. Sort of like journaling, which Ron's little sister Ginny still did on a regular basis.

Harry rolled to the end of his bed and pulled open his trunk. He fumbled around for some spare paper, and then he saw it. The Notebook.

That day (was it only a few days ago?) that Malfoy had dropped it on his table, Harry had kept it, hoping to keep anyone else from seeing it and getting hurt by it. Getting hurt by it…

Hmmm.

Harry pulled it out, held it in his hands. He turned the pages, reading nothing, only feeling the paper. Magic flowed through the wood pulp, he could feel it. He remembered being told it had a spell on it. A truth spell. You couldn't write a lie within its pages.

Harry flopped the book on his bed and opened to the first blank page. He took up a quill and a bottle of ink. And after pondering for a few minutes, he decided on what to say.

A loud sound attracted Draco's attention. He looked up from the homework on his lap to the large, snow-white bird that had just flown into the window of his room and knocked over Crabbe's bedside jar of Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. 

An owl?

The bird strutted over to him, head twisting round, as if taking in the room. Finally, it hopped onto Draco's bed and hooted solemnly, and stuck out its leg.

A white scroll. Draco took it and the owl flew away. He unrolled the little paper.

__

Meet me in the abandoned west wing {of the} astronomy tower tonight at midnight.

H.P.

Draco's breath caught in his chest. He crumpled the paper in his fist and started to fling it towards the window.

But he stopped. And un-crumpled it. He slipped it into his pocket.

Harry's heart was beating like a drum. He placed his hand on his chest and he could feel it strongly, pumping wildly.

__

I can do this, he said to himself.

He pulled his best robe over his shoulders and straightened it. He tucked his wand into his shoes, just in case. He hadn't forgotten the last time he met up with a riled Malfoy late at night. 

Finally, he picked up The Notebook and placed it in the waistband of his black slacks. 

"Just stick with the plan," he said out loud, and turned away from his mirror.

"Hey Draco, some of us are going to sneak down to Hogsmeade and get some alcoholic Butterbeer and bring it back for everyone else. Do you want to come with?" Pansy asked, batting her big eyes, and touching Draco's arm. "It's cold out there. I need someone big to keep me warm."

"Crabbe can do it. He's bigger than me. He's like a bear- just hold onto him."

"Baby, you know I don't like Crabbe like that."

"Well you shouldn't like me _like that_ either. You're the one who broke my heart and split up with me last year," Draco said, but he sounded in no way sentimental.

Pansy pouted, "I know. But I'm starting to think that may have been a mistake…"

"Sorry, Pans. There are no second chances once you reject me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some…er…business to attend to this evening."

"Business!" Pansy yelled behind him, as he walked across the common room, "But it's Friday."

Draco said nothing. He left.

"Harry, get over here! Neville's grandma mailed him this great Muggle thing called a tele-bison!" Ron called.

"It's a television, Ron, not a large, hairy mammal, " Hermione corrected.

"Yeah, a television. And we're watching this great show called 'Friends'. It's really crazy. It's about all these, well, friends, you see? And they get up to all kinds of crazy high jinks. It's hilarious! In this one Rachel is dating Joey, even though Ross is the father of her baby and they try to have dinner together and of course it's really awkward-"

"Er, no thanks, Ron. I have some…er…Astrology homework I've got to work on. I think I'm going to go take a look at the stars."

"Harry! It's the weekend! Come on, you can't miss this."

"Ron," Hermione reprimanded, "Let him go. Good for you, Harry. Way to keep your priorities straight."

She gave him a thumbs up.

Harry smiled weakly and left the common room.

Draco paced the small tower room, eying the door. Still no one. He was starting to feel stupid. Maybe Potter wasn't going to show.

He looked around the room, thinking he shouldn't have come in the first place. His eyes were glazed as he looked around, but the magnificent view of the frosty blue sky and winking silver stars visible through the arched windows that were placed all around the tower was not completely lost on him. This room had been the Astronomy classroom decades ago, before the schools population had gotten up into the thousands. Now it was too small to hold the average class size. It'd been retired, and was now a favorite snogging location for the older students- those who knew of its existence anyway. Draco wondered why Potter had picked this place. Did he know of its reputation? Had he been here before? And with whom?

He thought again that he shouldn't be here. But for some reason, he couldn't get himself to leave. He couldn't say why. Maybe it was only to be able to see Potter, look at him, and feel nothing. To prove his dream wrong. To prove himself wrong.

Oh God, when he thought like this, he couldn't breathe. All day, he couldn't get Potter out of his mind. He kept seeing the dream, and the kiss that had happened yesterday, intertwined into one. Knotted together so tightly that he could scarcely tell one from the other. It was frighteningly maddening. He was suddenly thinking of Potter in a new way…thinking of him as a person instead of just a representation of what Draco hated and feared. 

He would have given anything to go back to seeing Potter only as something to go up against. To knock down. He didn't want to feel _sorry_ for Potter. He didn't want to feel guilty for the things he'd done to him.

Suddenly, Draco sensed something in the room. He turned away from the window he'd been watching out of.

"You came."

Potter's voice echoed around the room, filling it. He was in the doorway.

Draco's voice caught in his throat, and for a second, nothing would come out. He felt his blood rushing, his head getting light. For a second time, he could only look at Potter as a fusion of undistinguishable emotions ran through him.

He quickly shook it off and raised himself up, sneering down at Potter as he entered the room. Suddenly, the once cold room was filled with Potter's warmth.

"That's right, I'm here. What is it you wanted, because I've got a lot of other things I could be doing right now that are a lot more attractive to me than standing around with you all night, Potter."

Potter cocked a grin. "Really? Because I don't have anything better than to stand around with you."

"I'm not amused by your jokes. Now do you have a real reason for asking to see me or not?"

Potter's face dropped into a more serious expression. "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact."

Potter reached into his robes, and Draco immediately moved his hand to his wand. But Potter drew out something else. Something far more destructive in Draco's mind.

"Look," Potter began. "I didn't want to have to do something like this. I didn't want to stoop to your level. And yesterday you…you actually had me feeling sorry for you for a while."

"I never asked for your pity," Draco snarled defensively. 

"I didn't say I pitied you. I just felt…for a second…that maybe you were- I don't know, that maybe you weren't who I'd always thought you were. That picture in the _Gossiper _was a bad thing for both of us. I thought maybe you could understand how I feel when you…" Potter shook his head and paused, "I'd hoped you would see what it's like to be laughed at, and maybe feel a little bit a sympathy for me, like I felt for you. But of course I was wrong. You turned around and used the whole situation to your advantage and made a big joke out of me. Luna told me about who you asked her to write the follow up article for the _Gossiper_. I know it was you."

Draco didn't know what to say. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from what was folded in Potter's arms.

"I didn't have to say any of this to you, but I wanted you to understand that you forced me to do this. You brought this upon yourself. I'm still sorry it has to be this way. This is wrong; this goes against what I believe. But I can't think of any other way to stop you."

Then Potter unfolded his arm and held out The Notebook. Draco only looked at it, refusing to touch it.

"Take it," Potter said.

"Why should I? I've already seen it."

"Not all of it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just open it."

Draco reached out slowly and took it. It felt familiar in his hands, yet somewhat foreign now as well. He flipped it open.

"K-keep going," Potter said, and licked his lips.

Draco turned past the page about Potter, past the rest. Until he reached a page that hadn't been there before. His mouth went dry. 

__

Draco Malfoy.

His name, written on the page.

He looked up at Potter, but he was looking away, staring intently out the window. Draco turned his head back to the page.

__

Draco Malfoy- One may not suspect Hogwarts most prejudice, homophobic student's name to be gracing the pages of this notebook. And as most probably recall, these pages are jinxed to only allow truthful entries. So whether you are inclined to believe or not, you must accept the truth of these words. I, Harry J. Potter, have had the pleasure of kissing Malfoy, and it must be known (since I cannot lie) that it was quite agreeable for the both of us. So, the next time you hear words of hate against gays dripping from Draco Malfoy's lips, give him a little reminder of the fact that he is not some so much a stranger to the world of homosexuals as he'd like to believe. What goes around comes around.

Draco was in disbelief. The feelings of panic surging through him were so strong the he almost couldn't stand. The room spun once around him, and he staggered backwards, sagging against the wall. He looked up and saw Potter watching him, his face a mixture of triumph and concern.

"I won't show this to anyone as long as you promise to leave me alone," Potter said, taking The Notebook back and placing it in his robes.

"What?"

"I said I won't show anyone the entry. As long as you agree to stay away from me from now until the end of the school year. That includes not bothering Hermione or Ron as well."

"That's all you want?" Draco asked, incredulous. 

Potter nodded.

Easy enough, it seemed. Almost innocent. 

Almost.

But in reality, by holding this notebook in his possession, Potter held power over Draco. He could literally make Draco do whatever his bidding. Anything. Sure, now it was only 'stay away from me'. But pretty soon, Potter would want something more. Draco was sure of that. Once someone had a taste of power, they always desired more.

This Draco knew, but there was nothing he could do about it. Potter had control. The ball was in his court, and would be forever.

"What do you say?" Potter asked.

"What else can I say, Potter?" Draco asked with a resigned sigh. "You've won."

The next week for Harry was a quiet one. He put away The Notebook for good, knowing he wouldn't need it again. Malfoy had agreed on Harry's terms, and Harry knew he wouldn't need to threaten the boy any further. Whether or not Harry would really have done what he threatened was unknown to him. But it didn't matter; he knew Malfoy wouldn't take the chance. 

Without Malfoy to worry about, Harry found that he had a lot less to occupy his mind with. Mealtime at Hogwarts was suddenly very quiet an uneventful. Nothing more was said about the picture or the follow up article. After the weekend, everyone seemed to have forgotten about. Conversation favored dates, parties, and stories of drunken adventures resulting in narrow escapes from Filch. 

In the evenings, instead of fuming over Malfoy's latest tricks, Harry and Ron sat together and played chess, talking idly about Quidditch and griping about how much homework Snape had been assigning lately. Over the course of the week, it became the eight o'clock ritual of the Gryffindors to gather around Neville's 'tele-bison', as Ron had called it, and watch sitcoms. These shows were not ones Harry personal favored, but it was fun to listen to the students from all wizard families marvel over the ways of the Muggles.

Everything was back to normal. Sort of. Because Malfoy's pestering had been a part of Harry's daily life since he started at Hogwarts, and now it was missing. Malfoy was acting as though Harry no longer existed. In class, Malfoy was unusually attentive. He did his work in silence mostly. The few times that Crabbe or Goyle would make a jab about something Harry or one of his friends was doing, Malfoy simply ignored them- as if he hadn't heard them at all. As if the name Harry Potter was unknown to him.

Harry had heard from Cho Chang, who was dating Dean Thomas now, that Malfoy was "sort of" dating Pansy Parkinson again. Harry _had_ noticed them together a lot. For some reason, Harry hated the way Malfoy had started draping his arm over her shoulder in the halls between classes. He did it so casually that it seemed "right". Harry didn't know if Malfoy really liked Pansy again, or if it was just a show to bust up any suspicions people had had after the picture came out, but it certainly looked believable. Malfoy and Pansy seemed at ease together, as if they belonged at each other's side.

Harry had been trying to stop paying attention to what Malfoy was doing. He knew he should just be glad that Malfoy was leaving him alone for once. And he was glad of that.

He was.

But he simply couldn't ignore Malfoy's presence. It haunted him. The passion of their arguments seemed to hang between them, lingering there like an invisible rope that tied them. But that passion was waning, growing thin. The years of rivalry that had built up between them were fading away. Pretty soon there would be nothing connecting them. They would be distant memories to each other. 

Harry spent many of his meals stealing glances at Malfoy. He watched him laugh, joke, talk. He seemed so normal. With Harry out of his life, he hadn't lost anything. He was the same, with or without him.

Of course, Harry still talked and joked around with his friends as well. He laughed with Ron as they drew pictures of Snape in Potions, but his laughter was empty. It echoed within the cavernous vacuum inside him. When Harry smiled, it fell away too quickly. He couldn't seem to hold an honest grin on his face. What was wrong with him?

He felt an void inside himself. He didn't understand why, but it was there.

All because Malfoy didn't look at him anymore. 

Draco wasn't dating Pansy, but he was aware that she was telling people that they were "going together, only casually of course". He didn't really care. It served the purpose of getting rid of any rumors about his sexuality, and relationship to Potter.

He even took Pansy on a sort-of date the next weekend. They went down to Hogsmeade and ate at The Black Cat, an expensive French place. He listened to Pansy ramble on and on about how the school robes didn't flatter her complexion, while he sipped on glass after glass of wine. Being a Malfoy had it's advantages- the restaurant owner knew his father and granted him permission to have a bottle of their best wine with dinner. Draco drank most of it.

On the walk back, Pansy gave Draco a peck on the cheek. She batted her eyes enchantingly at him. Draco smiled at her, and kissed her back, but only on the forehead. It would have felt like a lie to kiss her on the lips. He simply didn't have feelings for her, no matter what he tried to convince himself of.

When he wasn't with Pansy, he worked on homework. When he ran out of homework, he went to the library and researched the ingredients listed in Snape's journal. He didn't find out much. A few of the ingredients had dark properties, but many, to his surprise, were not dark, simply rare. He looked for similar potions but found none. He had struck a dead end, quite simply. 

There was no word from Snape either. He didn't show up for class the rest of this week, and when Draco visited his dorm, he found it empty. Everyday he searched hopefully through his mail, but found no letter, not even a simple note or postcard, from Snape.

As for Potter, Draco simply didn't think about him. He erased him from his mind the best he could. He didn't look at him. Didn't think about him. When Harry was walking by, Draco was already a step ahead. If Harry entered a room, Draco was already gone. They existed on separate planes. And it was fine. Draco was fine. He had other things to worry about.

Like Pansy. And his grades. And Snape. And the mystery potion in the journal.

But sometime during that week after he and Potter's final confrontation, it dawned on him that he was working very hard to fill up some place inside himself. A place that hadn't been vacant before. 

Something was missing. But when Draco tried to search for it, he found nothing. Whatever it was had already flown away. 

"I don't know, Harry. You're right, I do like her," Ron confessed to Harry in the hall on Sunday night. He leaned against the wall, his tall frame shrinking slightly. 

"So what's the problem?" Harry asked, propping himself against the wall as well.

Ron blushed, "I can't just ask her out. It's not that simple. We've been friends forever. What if I ruin it?"

Harry smiled quickly and slapped his hand over Ron's shoulder, "Trust me, Ron. She feels the same way you do. Don't miss your chance, ok? You don't want to regret this for the rest of your life. I've seen you and her together. You belong together. You fit together like a puzzle. You're funny and spontaneous. She's serious and organized. You're good for each other. You're better than that. You two are perfect together."

"Really?" Ron asked meekly.

Harry nodded.

"Yeah, ok. Ok! I'll do it! I'll ask her out this weekend."

"No," Harry said.

"What! But you just said-"

"Kiss her."

Ron cocked his head, "What?"

Harry nodded, "Just wait for the opportune moment and kiss her. Put everything you feel for her into it. She'll understand, and it's way better than just asking her out."

"Yeah! Hey, that's good," Ron grinned excitedly. Then he regarded Harry suspiciously, "Hey now, you aren't speaking from experience are you?"

Harry's face dropped. He hadn't realized it, but he was. Oh God.

"Harry? Harry, are you ok? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I just- No," Harry said. He gulped and tried to clear his mind of the painful memories that were seeping in. But it was too late. He could see it all in his mind as if it were happening at that very moment.

"Well, hey, let's get back up to the common room. It's almost nine; maybe we can catch 'The Simpsons'! I love that show!" Ron said.

"Yeah, sure. Me too."

They both pushed away from the wall and headed towards the portrait, Ron seeming happier, and Harry feeling heavier. Ron was chattering away, and Harry tried hard to listen. 

Suddenly they both collided into something beefy and bounced back.

"Hey, watch it!" Ron said.

"You watch it!" said a voice. Harry looked up to find Goyle standing before them, fists clenched.

"You got in my way, you…you whale," Ron said.

"You want to get pulverized tonight, Weasley?" Goyle growled.

But before anything else could be said, Malfoy slipped out from behind Goyle.

"Greg, forget about it. Let's go," he said, looking straight ahead and refusing to catch Harry's eye.

"But...but," Goyle protested.

Malfoy looked over at him, raising his eyebrows threateningly.

"Get out of the way, Malfoy. Unless you want to get involved in this as well, you little pile of Slytherin vomit," Ron said, obviously still angry about what Malfoy had done to Harry last week.

For a second, Harry was sure Malfoy was going to react. His face went pale pink, the way it did when he was angry. His eye twitched, and his fists clenched.

Then he looked over at Harry for the briefest of seconds. It was the first time they'd shared eye contact all week. Something inside Harry surged, for a second he felt alive again. Then Malfoy turned back to Ron and shook his head.

"No, I don't want to get involved. Come on, Greg. Let's go find Pansy."

A minute later they were gone, with Ron still itching for a fight.

"I could have taken him. He's fatter than me, but I'm taller, and I've been working out. All I needed was one good swing, and BAM, he would have been out. Stupid Malfoy, picking tonight to be civil. What's gotten into him, do you think?"

Harry shrugged, faking ignorance.

But Harry did know what had gotten into Malfoy. And it had all started with a kiss.


	7. Hell's Bells

**__**

Chapter 7: Hell's Bells

__

Warnings: Mature themes, budding homosexual relationships, potty language

__

Author's Note: Yeah, sorry this took so long. I've been working a lot (well, not "working" so much as building crayon towers, sneaking food, dancing to outdated music and drawing on the backs of recipes all under guise of working- and getting paid for it) and thus haven't had a lot of free time. And when I do have free time I tend to just want to sit around and watch _I Love the 80's _and _Scrubs_, my current favorite television media. Not that you readers care, I just feel like telling you, and it's my Author's Note, so I can do what I want. As always, thanks sooo much for your reviews. And mucho thanks to Lunadeath the beta for rocking so much. 

This is the first chapter that will deviate from the original plot of the first Slide. I hope you guys like this, and I look forward to hearing your comments about the new state of events. Happy reading.

Two weeks after his mysterious departure, Draco finally received a letter from Snape. It was a snowy morning. Faux snowflakes drifted from the cloud-streaked sky over the great hall, melting away before it hit the tables. A large, one-eyed owl landed on the table in front of Draco and hooted gruffly. Draco tried to shove it away, thinking it was mistaking him for someone else. He hardly ever received letters, except for the occasion gift from his mother, or, ever rarer, a letter from his imprisoned father. The owl bit his hand and stepped into Draco breakfast, looking peeved.

"Go away, stupid bird," Draco snarled at the thing, waving his hands to shoo it.

"It's probably for you, Baby," Pansy said, and unrolled the small envelope from the owls leg. The owl cooed softly at her and allowed her to ruffle his feathers. Then it turned back to Draco, snatched his biscuit off of his plate and flew out the window.

Pansy handed him the note. He opened it carelessly and read over it once.

__

Draco,

I just thought you would want to be informed that I am safe and well. But times are unstable. Don't do anything stupid.

S.

Draco had to read it over a few times before he realized who it was from. _S. _Severus Snape. So he'd finally decided to write him. Draco was relieved that Snape seemed to be all right, but he was curious to why exactly time's were 'unstable'. And what did he mean by 'Don't do anything stupid'?

Stupid like what?

Stupid like ransacking Snape's dorm and stealing a notebook containing an obviously illegal potion recipe? Or stupid like allowing Potter to get good enough blackmail in him to ruin the rest of his life? Or perhaps stupid like allowing Pansy to think that you were dating again and having to put up with her slobbering all over you until you were ready to clobber her next time she batted her eyes and said "Kisses, Baby!"

If doing something stupid included any of those things, Draco was already guilty as sin. 

"Who's it from, Baby?" Pansy asked, ripping her muffin into tiny pieces before eating it in a way that drove Draco mad.

"Could you not call me Baby all the time? It's degrading," Draco grumbled.

"Sure, Sugar Buns. Who's the letter from?"

"I have to go upstairs."

"Why?"

"I…I forgot my History of Magic text."

"Pudding, are you mad at me? Did I say something wrong?" Pansy asked, looking concerned. 

"No, you didn't. You- You're fine."

"Oh, good! I was worried for a minute. Ok, Grumpy-Pants, see you in Potions. And don't forget the meeting tonight," she said with a wink.

"Huh? What meeting?"

"_The_ meeting, Draco. Honestly, don't act stupid."

But Draco wasn't acting. He didn't have the slightest clue what Pansy was talking about.

She held up her left hand. On her middle finger was a large ring exactly like the one Draco had seen on Crabbe a few nights ago while he was sleeping. It had a glittering silver skull on it, with a wriggling snake going in through the eye and out of the mouth.

Pansy raised her eyebrows as if to say 'remember now?' But Draco didn't. He was starting to feel very left out of something big. But he decided he probably didn't want to let on that he wasn't a part of this. It seemed dangerous to be an outsider at the moment.

"Oh, right. That. Ha ha. How could I forget," Draco said.

"Seriously," Pansy said, and rolled her eyes. "This has been planned like all month."

"Guess I'm just feeling a little forgetful at the moment," Draco said, and slowly walked away.

As he strolled towards the door, he looked closely at everyone's hands at the Slytherin table. He counted about thirty of the rings in totally. Something strange was going on here, something very strange.

__

Times are unstable, Snape's words echoed.

__

Don't do anything stupid…

Draco did not return to his room, and didn't show up to class that morning. Instead, he sat up in his room making a copy of the list of ingredients listed in Snape's journal. Something strange was going on here, and Draco was going to figure out what it was. 

Feeling a childlike excitement at the thought of playing detective, Draco went all out. He equipped himself with a notepad and a special quill that didn't need to be dipped in ink. He dressed in head to toe black, and wore his Hogwarts issue robes for a change. He usually preferred his dark gray robes from home, the one's he'd had specially made in his favorite color, complete with his initials D.L.M. monogrammed inside the collar, but not today. Today he needed to blend in, not stand out. He finished himself off by pulling a black, wool cap over his telltale white hair. He didn't want anyone spotting him and getting in the way of his "mission". 

He took out his notebook and wrote down the places he'd already looked for clues about Snape's disappearance, and crossed them off. Then he wrote down the places he hadn't looked. He also wrote down the names of a few Slytherins who might be stupid enough to babble out some information about whatever was going on tonight. He shut the notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. He was ready to go.

His first stop would be Snape's Potions classroom.

Draco had to wait for his own first period class to be dismissed before he was able to sneak into the dungeon classroom. He watched from next to one of the suits of armor as everyone exited. He spied Pansy walking with her arm through Zabini's. That bitch! They'd only been 'sort-off dating' for two weeks and her eye was already wandering. 

Draco had to remind himself that he didn't even like her in the first place, and what was more, she'd been annoying the bloody hell out of him all week. If she wanted to go off with that wanker, Zabini, she could go right ahead. Draco wouldn't miss her.

But he was still a bit peeved about how easily she could move on from him. He wasn't that boring, was he?

Draco forgot all about Pansy when he saw Potter exiting the room. He was looking quite gloomy and brooding, but in such a way that it inspired all the girls to cluster around him, simpering and asking what was wrong. Those idiots. Some of them were still hopeful that one day Potter would wake up and say: "You know what, I guess I'm really not gay after all. I've liked girls all along; I was just a bit confused, is all."

Right, like that would ever happen.

Draco found himself a bit peeved as he watched the menagerie of cooing females cluster around and paw at Potter. He didn't quite know why, but he was fighting the urge to tell them all to bugger off. He supposed he was just annoyed with all their fussing. Actually, he was quite sick of females at that point. Two weeks of Pansy's constant company had done that to him.

After he was sure the room was cleared out, and Potter had disappeared down the hall in a cloud of hyperactive estrogen, Draco snuck down the stairs and into the dungeon classroom. He knew the next class would be starting in another half hour, so he had to work fast. The substitute professor, most likely McGonagall, could return at anytime.

To his extreme surprise, Draco found not one of the listed ingredients of the mystery potion anywhere in Snape's room. He even checked behind the shelf of pickled rats, and the jars of preserved snakes' eyeballs. But he found nothing whatsoever. There was nothing even remotely suspicious in the room at all. 

Draco scurried off when he heard approaching footsteps. When he was back on the main floor of the school, he took out his notebook and crossed of 'Potion's Room'. That left Snape's other classroom, the DADA room. Draco fought off the disappointment of finding nothing in the Potion's room. He had been sure if there were anything to find, it would have been located there. The DADA room was just a sort of 'in case' thing. He was pretty sure he'd find nothing in there. After all, Snape hardly ever spent time in there, preferring to haunt the chilled depths of his dungeon classroom. 

Still, he had to check anyway, so he made his way to the classroom, careful not to be spotted walking by the doors of any of the other occupied classrooms. If he was caught skipping, he'd be sent straight to Dumbledore and that'd be the end of his snooping.

Luckily it was time for the Slytherins' Advanced Herbology so he didn't have to worry about any of his friends spotting him. He made it to the Defense classroom undetected once again, and locked himself in. He looked around at the brightly lit classroom and shook his head. There was just no way he'd find anything in here. He knew it.

But he set to work anyway, checking through the almost empty front desk and in all the back closets. All he found were a few dusty texts labeled things like _Practical Demon Exorcizing_ and _The Dirt Ring Around the Bathtub and Other Unexpected Signs of Gremlin Infestation, _and a nasty Boggart that was strangely taking on the shape of Harry Potter. Draco dispelled it quickly, and continued with his search, not giving it much thought.

After roughly forty-five minutes of searching, Draco admitted to himself that there was, as he'd expected, nothing here. Exhausted and disappointed, he leaned against the chalkboard that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, not caring that he was rubbing off some of the notes. Suddenly, the wall began to slip away from behind him. Draco tumbled back and landed on his behind, in the middle of a closet-sized room.

The chalkboard had a secret door, he realized. No way! He pulled out his wand and lit the end, looking around the room carefully. It was, as he'd noted, fairly tiny. There was a desk on against the back wall on which two tanks were set up. One was labeled A, and the other B. Inside the tanks were two sets of small, furry beasts looking a lot like rats. But there weren't, he knew, because he remembered having a lesson about them recently in Care of Magical Creatures class. He couldn't remember their name, but he knew they breathed fire, and could produce tiny cracks of electricity from their tails, which they enjoyed doing very much.

Only, the ones in tank 'A' weren't doing that at all. In fact, they really didn't look so well. They had a faded quality to them, not like they were sick, but like they were empty inside. If he didn't know any better, he would have said the little buggers were depressed. They were all hanging out in separate corners, lying listlessly and emitting mournful squeaks. Curiously, Draco reached his hand inside the tank and picked one up. He turned it over and tickled its belly the way they'd been shown to in class to get them to burp up a bit of fire. But nothing happened. The little creature opened its snout, but nothing came out. This seemed to make it even sadder, and it curled into a ball and buried its face in it's tail.

Draco placed it back in the tank, his mind wandering back to the bit of paper that he'd found tucked inside Snape's journal, the one about the essence of Thestral's scale. The description popped back into his mind:

__

In large doses, it had been known to completely rob a magical creature of all abilities. The creature is left confused, weakened, and almost powerless. 

He looked back at tank 'A', feeling his stomach sink lower. The little fire-rats weren't breathing fire or shocking each other. They did seem weak and confused. Could it be that the potion Snape was creating was meant to steal something's magic? Was that possible?

Draco looked over at tank 'B' for the first time. It was filled with the same kind of creatures, but these ones were acting quite normal. They were squealing gleefully and slapping each other with their tails, which were crackling with blue energy. Next to the tank was a book. Draco picked it up slowly and held the glowing tip of his wand to the cover.

__

Learning to Fight the Effects of Potions, it said. It was old and cracked, with the binding coming lose. Draco opened to cover and found a newer piece of parchment taped inside.

It said: _I recently unearthed this from my personal library. Perhaps, if your research still isn't going well, it should be given to Potter for study. I will leave this decision up to you. I don't want to needlessly alarm the boy, but it may be for his own good to at least be prepared for the possibility of this sort of attack._

-Dumbledore.

Potter. So this had to do with Potter. Everything he had just learned was spinning through his mind. The fire-rats. The potion. The book. Snape's note. Dumbledore. Potter. Draco's mind was dizzy with attempting to put together the pieces of the puzzle. He dropped the book back in place and scrambled from the hidden room. He pulled the secret door shut and walked briskly to the door of the classroom. He opened it, stepped out, and walked smack into Blaise Zabini.

"Oh, sorry, Draco. Didn't mean to step into your way like that," he laughed easily, tossing back his long, auburn mane of curls.

"I bet you didn't. What are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?" Draco asked.

"I could ask you the same. I could also ask you why you were snooping around Snape's classroom," Blaise said, and something strange glimmered in his eye.

"And I could tell you to mind your own damn business," Draco snapped.

"Fine," Blaise smiled oddly, "I'll mind my business, and you'll mind yours. I hope to see you tonight."

Blaise turned away, but not before Draco caught a glimpse of the sparkling silver ring on his finger.

Draco was starting to think that the entire world was against him at the moment. Something was most defiantly amiss here, and Draco knew he only had a matter of time to figure it out.

Thirty green robed figures stood in the third floor trophy room at Hogwarts, gathered around in a closed in circle. A strange light glowed from inside that circle; a hissing sound echoing throughout the room. It was past midnight, and the school was sleeping. 

At least, it should have been, Draco mussed, as he watched from the doorway, undetected in the shadows. He had hidden all evening in a secret passage in the common room that had a small crack in the wall that you could peek through. To his knowledge no one knew about it but him- and Pansy maybe, because they'd used it as their make out place a few times when they were dating the year before. He watched the going-ons in the common room until everyone had departed for bed. After that, nothing of interest happened for quite some time. Draco had nodded off sometime around eleven, leaning against the wall with one arm. He awoke to the sound of distinctive shushing. When he peeked through the hole in the wall, he saw a group of Slytherin students hurry out of the room, all dressed in silky green robes with hoods pulled over their faces.

But he could tell their identities by their body size and the way they walked- he'd always been observant of people that way. He made out Pansy's short, curvaceous form swaying through the room next to Zabini's tall, thin and slightly bent figure. Crabbe and Goyle were all too obvious, being the only persons that were the size of gorillas and making grunting and wheezing noises. He recognized Millicent Bulstrode's hulking sort of walk that always reminded him of an elephant trying to walk undetected through a crowd of ponies. In the end, he was able to detect almost every one of the students. All were people he knew well, and many he considered friends.

He had a sick sort of feeling as he followed the group out, careful to trail far enough behind that they wouldn't notice him. Luckily they all seemed rather nervous and antsy, and weren't paying attention to the accident scraping sounds his feet made occasionally on the hard stone floor.

He was perplexed when they enter the trophy room. What, were they all serving detention? In the middle of the night in suspicious attire? It didn't make any sense to him. What in hell was going on?

It wasn't until one pulled out a strange, ordinate hand mirror and set it on the floor that he began to understand. Mirrors were often used by wizards to contact one another. They were contacting someone, and when an electric green light began to emit from the mirror, hissing and spitting and giving orders in a quietly shrill voice, Draco realized with horror just who it was they were talking to.

It was genius, really. The school was supposed to be safe- but He had figured out a way to infiltrate it. By using those who were already inside to do his work for him- the students.

Draco felt as though he were going to throw up. This could not be happening. His fellow students- his friends, for God's sake- were working for Voldemort! How? Why? And what were they planning? Would he be able to figure it out in time? 

He couldn't stop thinking that Snape was somehow involved in this. The journal, the potion, the experiment he'd found set up in the closet. It was all connected. Was Snape in trouble? Or worse, was he a part of this? Draco couldn't allow himself to think it. He knew Snape, and they'd talked at length about this, sometimes all through the night. Snape admitted that it had been a mistake to join Voldemort's ranks, and he was desperate to redeem himself by helping the other side. Even if it cost him his life, he'd once said. All those nights of frank discussing had convinced Draco that he would never, ever join up with the Dark Lord, no matter what his family expected of him. That didn't mean that he was going to go around being a do-gooder like Snape. He just didn't want to be involved at all.

But somehow he'd managed to get himself right in the middle of this.

Shit, shit, shit.

He listened closely, having a hard time making out Voldemort's words. The students were nodding, and not saying much. Not until Pansy spoke up.

"But that's my boyfriend!" she gasped.

Draco's stomach jumped to his throat, and he felt his dinner threatening to make an appearance.

Voldemort's shrill laughter floated eerily around the room. Draco heard his next words distinctly; he was speaking much louder this time.

"I don't care what your personal relationship is with the Malfoy boy! He knows too much, and he must be brought to me. He is a threat to us and our plan!"

"He's not! He hates Potter more than anyone. He'd never try and help him, or tip him off or anything," Pansy argued foolishly. 

"You think too highly of him!" Voldemort screamed, "You are a stupid girl. You know nothing of his true character. He is conflicted; I can feel it. And he is more powerful than either you or than he realizes. He is the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful dark wizards alive. He IS a threat and you will bring him to me, or I'll have your head, do you understand?"

"Y-yes," Pansy replied in a quivering voice.

"Unless we can be sure we have the Malfoy boy on our side, he is to be treated as the enemy. He-"

One trophy clanked across the floor. It bounced and spun into the center of the circle and stopped. Draco was motionless. He had been about to make his escape, wanting to hear no more, but in his panic he'd made the error of knocking down the 'Cleanest School in Europe 1987' award.

"Get him," came the command.

Draco ran. But not fast enough.

"Get him! Bring him to me! Bring him across the lake, someone will be waiting!" Voldemort shrieked from the mirror.

"No! Guys, no! It's me, Draco! Don't do this to me," Draco begged. He kicked and scratched and tried to run, but thirty people were on him at once. They were holding him down. It was happening too fast; he had no time to plan. 

"Seize the intruder! Bring him to me," the Dark Lord continued. "Bloody Hell, someone stun him! Stun him, you idiots!"

Draco tried to reach for his own wand but someone grabbed hold of his wrists. He looked up and caught a glimpse of Zabini's face looking down at him, emotionless. Draco spit into his face, but Zabini didn't let go.

"Stun him," Zabini commanded. "Goyle, you do it!"

"I…I…"

"DO IT!"

"Seize him! Get the intruder! Bring the Malfoy boy to me!"

"Greg, don't do it! I will never, EVER forgive you," Draco yelled. His wrists ached. His heart was pounding its way out of his chest. He had to get free. He had to find Snape. This couldn't be happening to him!

"Do it, Goyle. Now!"

"Greg, I'm your best friend! Pansy, Vincent! Come on! You can't do this to me!"

"Shut up," Zabini cried, and kicked Draco in the ribs.

Draco's insides were on fire. He couldn't breath- the air was knocked out of him.

"Now, Goyle. Oh for God's sake, anyone! Somebody stun him! Don't let him get free."

Draco looked up and saw Pansy's face from inside the shadows of her hood. It was twisted up in horror and confusion. She had her wand raised and she was looking back and forth from Draco, to the mirror on the floor.

Draco was finally able to pull a ragged breath of air into his burning lungs.

"Please, Pansy, please," he begged. God, he hated how he sounded. So weak...so scared. But what else could he do but plead?

"BRING HIM TO ME!" Voldemort roared.

Draco gasped for one last breath. His eyes were burning with un-spilled tears. 

"Please," he breathed.

And that was the last thing he could remember before the blackness closed in around him, the sounds turned to silence, his thoughts faded and everything turned to nothingness.

"No doubt, you have all heard," Dumbledore began the next morning, "That one of our seventh year students has gone missing." 

The Great Hall instantly erupted in gasps and rapid whispers. Harry Potter, however, remained staring straight ahead at the gray bearded Headmaster, waiting to hear more.

"Draco Malfoy was discovered missing from his bed this morning by roommate and friend, Vincent Crabbe. Mr. Malfoy his a highly respected, responsible, well loved student-"

"Yeah right," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

"And also a prefect here at Hogwarts. It is not expected that any sort of misbehavior on his part is the explanation for his disappearance. Nor is any foul play suspected," he continued.

There was a collected sigh of relief from the student body- except from Harry. Harry felt anything but relieved.

"We suspect that Mr. Malfoy is simply lost within the school. It would not be the first time someone has wandered into a corridor, only to find that once within, the door has run off and left one stranded. A thorough scouring of the school will be taking place today, and we hope to find Mr. Malfoy before he gets too hungry or worried. That having been said, enjoy your day and don't fret. I'm sure we will find him very soon," Dumbledore concluded, and took his seat once more.

"Not too soon, I hope," Ron laughed, and went back to eating his breakfast.

"Yes, I certainly won't miss him while he's gone, will you, Harry?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"Er…no. I suppose not. Although, he's been quite ok to me lately. Hasn't been saying anything about me or anything," Harry said.

"Yeah and remember the other night, Harry? When he completely avoided a tussle with us?" Ron asked, looking perplexed. "It was weird. Not like him to walk away from a fight."

"That is strange," Hermione agreed. "Maybe he's sick, or something. Not feeling up to it."

"Isn't it sort of strange that both Snape and Malfoy are gone now?" Harry interrupted.

"Well, no, not really," Hermione said. "Snape's away on business; that's what McGonagall told us. And Malfoy is, well, what Dumbledore said- probably just stuck in some room somewhere. This school IS tricky. Once I got locked in a bathroom stall for 45 minutes because the lock refused to open for me."

"I don't know, it just seems weird to me," Harry said, shaking his head.

"You're not worried, are you, Harry? Is there something else about this that you're not telling us?"

"Er…"

Ron set down his fork, "What is it?"

"Well, er…" Harry started, "I know you guys are probably tired of hearing this from me, but last night I woke up and my scar was hurting."

"Harry…" Hermione started.

"No, forget it. It's probably nothing," Harry said quickly.

"No way. Don't play it off like that! This is a big deal! You need to go to Dumbledore."

"No way. Forget it. I'm not going there again."

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Hermione said.

"I'm not being stupid! I'm just tired of this, is all! I'm tired of having to worry about the world's destruction every time my scar hurts. I'm tired of having bad dreams. I'm tired of being different. I'm tired of everything. I just- I don't know. I want to be normal. I want to wake up just once and not have a single thing on my mind. I want to walk into a room and be invisible. I want a normal life. I can't deal with this right now."

Hermione gulped. She reached out and put her hand over Harry's.

"I…I don't know what to say," she admitted.

Harry jerked his hand away. "Then just don't say anything."

Harry was in a foul mood all day. The searing pain in head had kept him up half the night, and now he had a vague headache as a reminder. His stomach was turning over quietly and his mind felt fuzzy.

He couldn't bring himself to talk to Hermione or Ron about it. He was trying desperately not to make a big deal about what was going on. He ignored the vague sense of anxiety that plagued him all day and had him wringing his hands together and rubbing the scar on his forehead. He ignored the twinge of pain he felt whenever he walked by certain Slytherin students, all of whom were giving him strange looks as well. He tried not to think of Malfoy, but for some reason he couldn't stop picturing him in some kind of danger.

Not that he cared if Malfoy was in danger. Why should he?

After classes he went to his room and flipped through The Notebook, reading his own entry about Malfoy over and over. He kept wondering if it hadn't been wrong to write it, to use it to blackmail Malfoy into being nice to him. Well, not nice. Malfoy hadn't been kind to him, just indifferent.

And actually, the indifference had begun to hurt more than the hateful thing Malfoy had used to say to him.

It didn't make sense to be feeling that way. Harry knew it. It wasn't like he _liked_ Malfoy or anything. No, he hated that rat bastard. 

But he was worried about him. Harry had to admit it to himself. He was scared of what might have happened to Malfoy. He had the odd sensation that some bad was going on, and Malfoy was deeply involved.

He was also beginning to feel increasingly guilty over what he'd written in The Notebook. It was low to have exploited Malfoy for the same things that Harry had been tormented for over the past year. He was beginning to wish he'd never written the stupid entry.

With all his bad feelings eating away it at him, Harry was desperate to do something, anything, to bring himself a bit a peace. That night, Harry crept downstairs long after everyone else packed up their games and homework, turned off Neville's 'tele-bison', and went to bed. He sat before the fire, The Notebook in hand. Without a further thought, he tossed it into the flames. He knew he had no further need for it. Malfoy was now leaving him alone as he'd requested. Harry knew now that he would never have lived up to his bluff and shown everyone what he'd written about Malfoy. He just couldn't do that, no matter how big a prick Malfoy had been to him over the years. It wasn't in Harry's nature to behave cruelly.

But to his surprise, The Notebook didn't burn. It sat inside the fire completely unharmed. Harry tried poking it further into the hot coals with a prodding iron but it didn't catch. It must have had some sort of spell over it, protecting it from destruction. He'd heard about that sort of thing. Figures, one of the idiot boys who made it must have wanted to make sure nothing happened to their holy grail. 

Harry fished it out of the fire and found it still cool to the touch. He stuffed it back into the waist of his trousers and sat on the couch, thinking. He found himself, as he had many times before, wishing for Sirius's council. That desire widened the emptiness inside him that had been building lately. He was starting to feel like a drum- a big, lonely void with skin stretched over it, his thoughts echoing quietly and rhythmically in the emptiness. 

A single tear rolled down Harry's cheek. He let his face rest in his hands. He didn't cry. He simply didn't have it in him. All he had was that one tear, which quickly dried up to nothing. The only evidence of his unhappiness was gone. 

Then Harry's hands turned white. His body tensed as a wave of pain crashed over him, started from the mark on his forehead. Just like last night, he thought. He stood up, walked towards the portrait and the pain worsened. He was nearly blinded by it, but he had a sudden revelation. He could find the source buy following the intensity of the pain.

Without thinking to grab his invisibility cloak, Harry dashed out of the portrait.

"Where are you going?" the Fat Lady demanded, "Do you have any idea how late it is! You don't want to go wandering off tonight- not with that Malfoy boy already missing!"

"What do you know about it?" Harry snapped.

The Fat Lady raised herself up and looked down her nose at him. "I happened to have heard from one the portraits in the third floor hall that there was some activity going on last night in the Trophy Room near midnight."

"What? Have you told anyone?"

"Well, Dumbledore, of course. He's looking into it."

"But he said that Malfoy probably just got locked in a room or something by accident!"

"Well, of course he did," said the Fat lady shrilly, "Can't get all the students worked up over this, can he? Not before he's sure that there was, in fact, foul play involved."

"Foul play?" Harry gulped, rubbing his aching head.

"Yes, foul play. There was a bit of a scuffle, I guess, from what Milton tells me. Milton is the portrait in the third floor hall. He said he heard a lot of yelling. He's not sure, but he thinks he may have heard the Malfoy boy cry out."

"He- Malfoy? He may have-"

"What are you trying to say, boy? What's got you acting so flustered?"

"The Trophy Room, you said?" Harry asked for clarification.

"Yes, that is what I said."

"Around midnight?"

"Indeed."

"And it's just past midnight now…" Harry said, and started down the hall to the stairs.

"Wait! Where are you going? I just told you it may not be safe!" the Fat Lady yelled behind him.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning," Harry said, and took off down the hall.

He reached the third floor in a matter of minutes. As he rounded the hallway he began to notice a greenish light flickering on the walls. It was clear when he reached the trophy room that the light was coming from inside. He crept up slowly, only now realizing he should have brought his cloak with him. As he approached, the pain in his head grew almost unbearable, but he started to hear something as well. 

The distinctive, high-pitched voice was unmistakable. 

Voldemort. 

But it couldn't be. Not in the school. 

Before Harry could think it out any further, a dark figure emerged from the room. Not Voldemort, but a student. A student in a strange, hooded robe. Behind him, or her, a few others appeared. Harry was locked in place in fear. He knew he should run, but he couldn't. He felt like time was moving horribly slowly. And the first thing that came from his lips was, "What have you done with Malfoy?"

One hooded figured nodded to the other.

Harry whipped out his wand.

"_Stupefy_!"

The center figure fell to the ground, and a few others stopped to help him. Harry finally regained control over his legs and turned and raced down the hall. 

"Get him!" someone yelled. The voice was fairly familiar, but he didn't have time to think of who it was.

Harry reached a flight of spiral stairs. He jumped, skipping over five steps and hit the ground running. Round and round, he ran down. He could hear the figures scrambling after him. Who were they, and how had they gotten into the school? And most importantly, what were they planning to do to him?

Harry reached the second floor of the school and raced down a long, open hallway. He was nowhere near any of the dorms, but he decided to scream for help anyway. It wouldn't hurt, and maybe Filch or one of the ghosts would hear him.

"Help! Someone help me!"

A jet of magic hit near his feet. Harry spun around and saw that the hooded figures were still behind him, stampeding down the hall after him.

"Stop right there, Potter. We've already got you," someone said.

God, the voice was so familiar. Why was it so familiar?

He found himself oddly reminded of a time at the Weasley's that past summer, when they'd all gone down to the beach to swim, and then back up to the Burrow for lunch. 

"Stop running, Potter."

"No way," Harry said, as he crashed through the doorway at the end of the wall, slamming it shut behind him. He slid into the next room, only to realize with horror that it was a dead-end. He was in a small room filled with extra portraits, some just propped up on the floor, and others nailed haphazardly to the wall. They were all sleeping.

"Wake up! All of you," Harry yelled at them. They began to rouse themselves slowly.

"What is it?" said a portrait of a man with a thick, gray mustache. 

"Go get Dumbledore. Wake him up. Tell him Harry Potter is in danger. Tell him that I'm being chased by-"

By who? Harry thought again about the voice, and the day at the beach. Who had been there? Ron, Hermione and himself, of course. And Mr. And Mrs. Weasley. Percy had been there too, with his fiancé Penelope. And Ginny. She was there with her boyfriend at the time, who was-

Blaise. Blaise Zabini.

The door crashed open. Three hooded figures stood in the doorway, wands raised. Somehow, Harry knew there was nothing he could do. It was like watching a car accident happen- it was horrible, but there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"By students," Harry finished.

"_Stupefy,_"said the voice that Harry now recognized as Blaise's.

Harry dropped to the ground, motionless, and slipped away into a dark stupor. 

__

Ennervate. 

"You know, I just got through saying to myself 'this really can't get any worse'. But once again, it looks like I was wrong."

The words floated through the darkness that swam in front of Harry's eyes. They interrupted his pleasant dreams and began to tug him towards reality. He had a vague sense that he should be surprised to hear that voice. He couldn't think of why. Really, though, he didn't care much. He just wanted to stay sleeping. He really, really wanted to stay asleep- stay in his dream world.

He rolled over, groaning, and put his hands over his face. Sleepy, sleep, sleep. Going back to beddy-by.

"Aw, come on now, Potter. Time to get up."

Something touched his ribcage and shoved him over roughly. He was quickly falling towards consciousness. No! Nooo! He had to _sleep_. It was _not_ time to get up yet. 

"Go 'way," Harry said, batting his hands at the thing trying to wake him.

"Isn't that precious," said the voice, dripping with sarcasm. 

Harry gasped as he felt something get driven into his stomach. His eyes popped open, his dreams evaporated, replaced by the harsh reality of the pain he felt.

"Shit," he gasped, curling into a ball. He realized he was on the floor. Not a floor he recognized. The carpet was thick and blood red. He looked around.

He was in a huge room. He looked up at the ceiling. Dark wood crossbeams raced from wall to wall with a gold design etched over and over into each. It was initials, he realized, made into a design. The letters D. M. Hmm, that was familiar.

In the center of the room was a humongous bed covered in green and gold, with an ordinate headboard with the image of a dragon carved in. On the opposite wall was a marble fireplace flanked by lizard-like demons with long, forked tongues. Over the fireplace was a portrait of a very familiar looking pale boy with white hair and angular features. He was dressed in gray and looked rather dreary and bored, and was drumming his fingers on the frame. When the portrait saw Harry looking at it, it flashed him an obscene gesture.

The pain in Harry's stomach ebbed away and he slowly sat up. He'd been lying before an expansive leather chair, with another person throw across it casually, legs hanging over the sides, with a book in their lap. Harry gasped as him memories of the past few weeks came rushing back to him. He remembered The Notebook, the fighting, Snape leaving, and the hooded figures that had stunned him.

And he remembered Malfoy's mysterious disappearance. Only, Malfoy wasn't gone anymore. He was right there, sitting in front of Harry, flipping through the pages of a lengthy tome.

"You kicked me!" Harry gasped.

Malfoy didn't look up, just continued to flip through the book.

"I could have done worse, considering it's entirely your fault I'm in this mess," he said.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, looking around the room once more.

"Isn't it obvious? This is _my room_, Potter. We're in my house."

Harry's mouth dropped. The portrait of Malfoy over the fire rolled his eyes. Harry stood up.

"How did we get here?"

"You're guess is as good as mine."

Harry grabbed the book from Malfoy's hands and flung it across the room.

"I'm in no mood for your games," he roared, "I've just been chased and hexed by a group of students from my own school. I heard Voldemort's voice coming from the trophy room. And I've just woken up in the _bedroom_ of my worst enemy, not to mention the son of a dark wizard. Plus you're supposed to be lost somewhere at Hogwarts! You have a lot of fucking explaining to do!"

"Is that what they said?" Malfoy asked, "That I was lost? Those idiots. Probably aren't even looking for me. I could dead for all they know, and does anyone care? No."

"Who cares!" Harry exploded. "What is really going on here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy rose out of the chair and approached Harry. He stood a few feet away, his lip curling up in obvious disgust.

"Look, Potter. Look me right in my eyes. I'm not lying to you. I have no idea what's going on either. You think _you_ had a rough night? I was kidnapped by my own friends! My ex-girlfriend hexed me and somehow I was brought here while I was unconscious and locked in my own bedroom. They took my wand. I haven't been allowed to speak to anyone, not even my mother. And now you're here. Ok? Things aren't peachy for me either."

"But…"

"But what? There's nothing to say. We're both prisoners, that's all I can tell you."

Harry began to pace around the room, ruffling his hair and adjusting his glasses.

"Potter, you're practically foaming at the mouth," Malfoy mused.

"Why shouldn't I be! This- this makes no sense! You're telling me you've been kidnapped. You say this is your house-"

"This is my house. Note the charming portrait of yours truly over the fireplace."

"But hexed by your own friends, Malfoy? That's pretty hard to believe, even considering the fact that you're all Slytherin scum."

"Yeah, well, it'd be hard for me to believe as well if I hadn't been there at the time. If you need proof I can show you the bruises that Zabini left on my wrist while he was holding me down and commanding my friends to stun me."

Malfoy pushed up the sleeves of his black dress shirt and, indeed, there were large blue and pink bruises spotted over his white skin. But Harry was not convinced.

"You could have done that yourself."

"Why would I want to bruise myself?"

"Hell, I don't know, Malfoy! To trick me? To fool me into believing you're just a victim here when maybe you're a part of this whole plot against me?"

"That's right, Potter. It's all about you, isn't it? Everyone's out to get _you_, right? Because you're so goddamn important; is that it?" Malfoy yelled. His skin was taking on a pinkish tone and his hands were clenched into fists.

"No, that's not what I meant. I'm just trying to point out the facts here. You are from a family of notorious dark wizards. Your dad works for Voldemort. And whether I want to be or not, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm who he's after. I've been stunned and brought here to your room. You have to admit, you look a bit suspicious. I have every right to think that-"

"To think what? That I'm one of His? That I'm a _Death Eater_?"

"All I'm saying is, I don't know you that well, so-"

"That's right! You _don't_ know me. Not at all."

Malfoy turned away from Harry, grabbing the table next to his chair and knocking it over. The candle that had been sitting on top of it tumbled off and hit the floor, moving so fast that the fire was extinguished. Malfoy dropped back into the chair again and put his face in his hands.

Harry backed away a bit, uncomfortable with the sudden show of emotion. He obviously struck some sort of nerve, but how, he wasn't sure. 

He wrapped his arms over his stomach and felt something strange there. He lifted his shirt up and pulled out The Notebook from where it'd been tucked in his pants. He still had it!

"Malfoy!" he said excitedly.

Malfoy looked up and his face fell. His skin paled and he shook his head slowly.

"Oh bloody fabulous. You carry it with you. Is that so you can blackmail me at a moments notice? What's it going to be this time? Going to make me tell you all my family secrets? Want me to jump out my window? Or maybe just a bit of oral-"

"No!" Harry yelled, "No, of course not. I wouldn't abuse this like that. I don't mean to blackmail you any further. I just mean that we could use this to make sure we aren't lying to one another. Get it? You write down what you just told me in here. Write that you're innocent, not involved in this, and that you have no idea what's going on. That way if it's the truth, I'll know."

Malfoy was silent a moment, contemplating this.

He nodded. "Fine. Give it to me."

Harry held out The Notebook, "Don't even try to run over and throw it into the fire. It's indestructible- must have some other kinds of spells on it as well."

"Lovely," Malfoy said, and didn't ask how Harry knew this.

The blonde boy took The Notebook over to a desk on the corner of the room next to a set of French doors the presumably lead out to a balcony. While Malfoy was writing, Harry checked all the doors, including the French doors and the smallish door next to the bed, and found them all locked, except the small one, which lead to a large, mirrored bathroom. When he crossed back through the room, Malfoy stood up and handed Harry The Notebook. He took it, and read over the words:

__

I, Draco L. Malfoy, swear that while taking a midnight stroll through the school two nights ago I stumble upon my friends dressed in strange robes, contacting the Dark Lord via some kind of mirror. I was then hexed, lost consciousness, and I woke up in my home, the Malfoy Manor. Here I discovered I was locked in my bedroom, and I had no contact with anyone until my door was opened by a masked figure, where upon Harry Potter was tossed, unconscious, into my room. I know nothing about what is going on. I am not involved. Harry Potter is a gigantic- 

That was where it ended. Harry looked up, "I'm a gigantic what?"

"Doesn't matter. Guess it wasn't true," Malfoy said with a twitch of a smile.

Harry was annoyed, but reassured. Sort of. Malfoy not being involved was a relief, but it also meant he was just as clueless as Harry as to just what in bloody hell was going on here.

Harry looked up at Malfoy. The blonde was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, chin up, looking cocky as usual. But there was a hit of anxiety in his stance. A bit of his normal buoyancy was lost. 

Harry sighed, "So that's it? You really don't know anything?"

"I really don't know anything."

"And we're locked in a room together."

"You're catching on, Potter. Slowly, but you are catching on."

Harry ran his hand through his hair again and shook his head. "How can you stand there and act so calm?"

"That's just what I do. But I can assure you, I'm no more delighted about our little slumber party than you are."

Before Harry could respond to this, there was a loud noise from outside. Malfoy looked towards the window next to the French doors. Harry followed. Malfoy threw open the heavy, velvet drapes and pushed the glass window open.

Cold night air rippled through the room. Outside, the sky was black as sin, and no stars twinkled up above. Only a pale, faded outline of the full moon was visible through the thick haze of gray clouds.

The front yard of the Malfoy Mansion stretched out before them. The formal gardens were done in the Louis XIV style, with low hedges and small plots of flowers. It was a vivid demonstration of man's power over nature's elements. A large courtyard was set inside the garden with a fountain in the middle. Black serpents spat out water that glittered green in the underwater spotlights. 

There was another loud noise. Harry and Malfoy both jumped at the sound. The sky exploded in green and silver sparks. Fireworks, Harry realized. Two more exploded, one taking the shape of a snake and the other a skull. The two came together. The Dark Mark.

"_Morsmordre_," Malfoy whispered.

Harry's stomach clenched up. A clattering sound could be heard from the dark smog surrounding the manor.

Slowly, a large carriage drawn by a small, smoke colored dragon emerged from the fog. It was followed by another, and another still. Harry's anxiety was building. He felt a strange twinge in his scar.

The first carriage pulled up and a tiny, wrinkly creature dressed in a fine suit, hopped off of the front and opened the door. A woman with black hair stepped out, sweeping open her long dress robes and lifting her head regally. Behind her, the other carriage had stopped and a few gaunt looking men in similar elegant dress exited onto the driveway. The first two carriages pulled away to make room for the final one. This one was pulled by a much larger, fiercer looking dragon that was spiting sparks over the cobblestone drive.

Harry dug his nails into the windowsill as the door was opened. He felt suddenly weak and his legs were shaking so badly that his knees nearly buckled. He struggled to stay standing as he watched in numbed horror as the final figure emerged. The person was tall and distantly masculine, carrying with him the air of strength, though he was using the aid of a silver tipped cane. He was dressed lavishly in billowing black robes and a top hat. Silver hair curled down over his shoulders and back. As he stepped out, he cast a long look at the window where Harry and Malfoy watched. He turned away as a blonde woman rushed up to him and pulled him into an embrace, clutching at him frantically and crying. 

Malfoy suddenly slammed the window shut, nearly shattering it. He pulled the drapes closed and collapsed against them, breathing hard. His face was ashen and his eyes were dark and glassy.

Malfoy looked straight ahead almost catatonically and opened his mouth, speaking in a faraway voice, more to himself than to Harry.

"Daddy's back."


	8. Bruises Fade

****

Chapter 8: Bruises Fade

Warning: Slash, bad words, blah blah. You know by now.

Author's Note: Hey! It's been a while. I tried doing NaNoWriMo for a bit but I couldn't fit into my schedule so I'm through with that. I'm still working on some original stuff, but I'm back to this as well. I'm truly sorry it took so long.

After you read this, if you have some spare time, check out my short PotC fic called _Going Under._ It's a bit dark, and contains non-con, but if you can roll with that, do have a look at it, and leave a review. 

Thanks for the reviews for this. I continued getting them all through the month and they encouraged me to go on with this. Thank you to everyone who is reading this on a regular basis. You make me a very happy girl. Thanks also to Lunadeath, my fab beta!

That being said, I hope you'll leave a review and check out _Going Under_. Happy reading, and Happy Hols to everyone.

"I'm not at all comforted by the fact that you're terrified of your father."

"I'm not."

"Oh, right. That would explain when you're panting as if you've just gone into cardiac arrest."

Draco turned a cold eye on Potter and snarled, "Just don't talk to me. At all."

"Ever?" he asked, looking surprised.

Draco didn't answer. He turned away from the black haired boy and sat down onto his bed, thinking very hard about what all this meant. Snape was gone, he was being held hostage in his own house, and the Death Eaters had finally been sprung from the big house. Add in the mysterious potion and Potter's sudden and unwanted presence and all Draco had was a massive headache.

"You know earlier, when I first got here? Why did you say it was my fault you were in this mess?" Potter asked.

Malfoy turned his head very slowly. Potter was sitting backwards in his desk chair, leaning forward on two chair legs, looking as if he were perfectly comfortable with the fact that he was in Draco's bedroom. He stared expectantly, lips pressed together, waiting for an answer.

"I don't want to talk to you," Draco reiterated.

"I hate to break it to you, Malfoy, but you're going to have to. I'm not just going to sit here in the dark, completely clueless about what's going on. As I'm sure you've noticed, something very bizarre is happening right now. I feel confident in wagering that I'm in danger here. I know you don't give two shits whether I live or die, but I do. So would you please stop acting as if we're five years old and answer me?"

"Don't presume to know what I 'give two shits' about, Potter," Draco snapped. 

Potter raised his eyebrows. Draco ignored him and went on:

"Look, I've already told you that I really don't have the faintest idea what's going on. Something bad is likely to happen to me as well. I heard the Dark Lord say that he doesn't trust me."

"What? When?"

"Right before he commanded his Death Eater girl scouts after me, two nights ago. He said that I knew too much, and that I have powers I don't know about, or something, and I'm not to be trusted and blah, blah, blah."

"Hold on, you're giving me too much information here. Back up to the part about you knowing too much."

Draco explained briefly about Snape leaving, and about his suspicions, carefully not to mention too much about Snape to Potter in case he wasn't already aware, although, he could tell by the look on Potter's face that he knew all about Snape's double life style. He told him about the contents of the journal, not mentioning where he'd found it. Unfortunately Potter was intelligent enough to catch on.

"Ah ha! So that's what you were doing in Snape's room that night!" he exclaimed.

"Doesn't explain why you followed me in, however."

"Oh, well, it was a coincidence really. I just happened to be walking around under my invisibility cloak and I saw you. My curiosity was peeked, so I decided to follow you," Potter recalled. He was silent a moment, and a thin smile crept onto his lips. 

"What?"

"Oh, er...nothing. Just remembering it, is all," Potter said, and blushed.

Draco's mind suddenly flashed with an image of their kiss and he shivered violently. He scooted towards the middle of his bed, farther away from Potter, and pulled one of his many pillows over his lap.

"Well, stop, would you? It's creepy," Draco said.

Potter stopped smiling. "Fine."

They were both silent a moment. Draco picked at the stitching of his pillow while Potter rocked back and forth on the chair. He was completely abusing the 17th century relic, but Draco didn't have the energy to make a fuss about it. Instead, he watched Potter roll back and forth, furiously messing up his hair and chewing on his lip. These were, apparently, the physical manifestations of his stress and the gestures seemed vaguely familiar, but not overtly so. Draco supposed he'd never watched Potter all that closely before, but why should he have? He was only doing so now because they were in such close quarters.

Very close, intimate quarters.

When Draco got out of this whole mess and found out who was responsible, heads were going to roll, that was for sure. He'd make sure his father-

Well, wait. He couldn't even be sure his father was on his side anymore. Who would Lucius choose, his son or his master? Draco couldn't be sure, and that was very unsettling.

A rumbling sound interrupted his murky deliberation. 

"You haven't got any food in here, have you? I'm starving," Potter said.

"No."

"Have they fed you at all? I mean, I know you've been locked here for two days. Have they brought you any food?"

"My mother sent up a plate of breakfast but I ate it all hours ago. Nothing left. Sorry."

"So, you haven't eaten since then?"

Draco turned to him, "No. Honestly, enough with the questions."

Potter thumped the chair back down on all four legs, "You're sure there is absolutely _no_ food in this room."

"No. There is no food."

"Really? Then why'd your eyes just flick towards your desk?"

"What are you talking about? They didn't," Draco insisted.

"There! You just did it again! I bet your hiding something in there!"

"You're completely mad."

Potter leapt up, turned, and ripped open the first drawer on the desk and began to riffle through it. Draco jumped up and stalked over to him.

"Get out of there! Potter! Get. Out."

Potter was already going through the second drawer. Finding nothing but a few old letters and school papers, he slammed it shut and opened the third.

"I demand that you get out of my desk this minute!" Draco roared.

Potter triumphantly pulled out a small bag of chocolate frogs.

"Ha!" he shouted, "What's this?"

"They're mine! Put them back!"

"You were holding out on me!" Potter gasped.

Draco sighed and shook his head, "Well, honestly, Potter, what did you expect? This is me we're talking about, not your bloody pals, Weasley and Mudblood."

Potter plopped back into the desk chair and opened one of the frogs, allowing it to jump into his hand and biting off the head. He pulled out another pack, and then tossed the bag to Draco.

"You know, we're never going to survive this if we don't try working together," Potter said.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Potter through narrowed eyes.

"Truthfully, Potter, I'd rather die than have anything further to do with you."

Potter frowned deeply, his green eyes crackling with intensity. "I hope you don't mean that."

A few hours later Harry's stomach was still growling and his situation hadn't gotten much better. Malfoy was now sitting in the opposite corner of the room with the bag of chocolate frogs tucked protectively in his lap. He seemed content to stare at his wall with fierce concentration. All Harry's attempts at conversation over the past few hours had been thwarted by a "Bloody hell, Potter, just shut it, would you?" or "The very last thing I want to hear right now is you babbling, so would you please be considerate of my sanity and close your trap?"

Harry had, early in the evening, briefly entertained the notion that this would at least (the very least) be an opportunity to perhaps get to know his enemy a little better. But all he had learned thus far was that Malfoy was a grumpy bastard and boring as hell to boot. He was also very apt at sitting still.

He decided to mention this as they sat through their third hour of silence.

"You know, I'm always hearing what a party animal you are, Malfoy, but I'm not sure I can believe it anymore. And you're not a very good host either, you know. I'm bored out of my mind."

Malfoy looked over from where he was tucked over the candy. His gray eyes were burning like ashes.

"I think being bored is the least of our problems, all right?" he snapped.

"Ah, _our_ problems, aye? So now you admit that we are in this together?"

"No, we are defiantly _not_ 'in this together'. God, Potter, stop being such a-" Malfoy paused, catching himself.

"Stop being such a what? Go on, say what you were going to say."

"Prat. I was going to say prat."

"Were not. You were going to say fag."

"I wasn't."

"You were! I know you were!"

Malfoy was silent. He looked away, back towards the wall. He seemed to be studying it very closely, running his fingers over the plaster and chipping peices away.

Harry sat silently for a while, debating over whether or not he wanted to say something he'd been thinking about saying for the past few hours. He figured he might never get another chance, so he might as well go for it, especially since he and Malfoy were trapped together and the other boy would have to listen.

Harry swallowed dryly and opened his mouth.

"Er, Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Could you…just look at me for a minute. I wanted to say something."

Malfoy turned again and tilted his head, raising his eyebrows to say 'go on'.

"Well, er, I just wanted to say that I'm, er, I'm sorry I …I'm sorry I…Uh…"

"Potter, you are babbling incomprehensibly."

"I'm sorry for kissing you. There, I said it," Harry blurted, and felt immediately better.

Malfoy, however, drained of blood and his face took on a pinched look. He said nothing, just nodded once in a jerky motion. 

"I was completely out of line, I know. Just the fact that you were crying and you seemed so-" Harry continued, now suddenly feeling the need to spill his guts on the subject in order to cleanse his conscience. 

"That's enough. I got it," Malfoy said. He was pressing his lips together and looking extremely nervous.

"Oh, well, ok. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I don't normally go around kissing random boys."

"Fine, you are not a sexual predator. I got it. Just shut up, now."

"I-"

"I said shut up. I don't need to hear anymore!" Malfoy snapped.

Harry closed his mouth obligingly. He watched Malfoy a moment more before turning away and looking out the window. It was still dark but the horizon was taking on a purplish tinge. It would be morning soon. 

And just what would this day bring, Harry wondered. More hours of awkward silence sharing a bedroom with Draco Malfoy? Or would it be something worse than that?

He didn't allow himself to think of the latter. He couldn't. If he didn't think positively he'd never get through this. If he let his fears and anxieties run rampant he'd never make it. He had to think positively. Whatever was going to happen to him, he could get through it. He'd already been through hell and back countless times in his short life. What more could possible happen to him? How much more tragedy were the fates willing to bestow upon one person?

"Why?" asked Malfoy said in a whisper.

Harry sat up and looked over. Malfoy was looking down at his hands, wringing them together.

"Why did you do it?" he asked almost silently.

"Why did I…kiss you?" Harry asked for clarification. Was Malfoy really attempting to have a meaningful conversation with him?

"Yeah."

"I suppose it was a moment of madness, really. I just got caught up in the situation," Harry struggled to explain. The truth was, he'd never been able to pin point exactly what had caused him to commit such a brazen crime. "It was just that there was something…sort of in the air. The energy between us, or the emotions between us…"

Harry blushed. As he spoke he relived the moment, feeling what he'd felt then. He felt how heavy the air had been between them, how sexually charged it. He remembered how fragile and _human_ Malfoy had looked with tears streaming down his face and the way ruddiness of his skin had made him look less than perfect and somehow gorgeous. That had been the first time Harry had realized that Malfoy was beautiful. Looking at him now, across the room with his head bent over his lap and his hands clasped nervously, Harry saw it again.

It was in those two single moments that Malfoy seemed like a real person to him, not the snobby, mean little boy who'd picked on him all those years- the boy he detested.

"That was the only time I've ever seen you act like something other that an evil, six foot pop cycle. You're cold, Malfoy. But at that particular time, you weren't. You were-" Harry struggled to finish.

"Hot?" Malfoy suggested.

Before Harry could respond, the door crashed open. 

"Dad," Malfoy gasped, standing up. The chocolate frog scattered over the floor.

Harry spun around. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway looking just as Harry remembered him, only a paler and thinner. His eyes had an empty, haunted look to them.

"Sit back, Draco," he said.

He went straight for Harry, grabbing him around the neck before he had time to respond. Harry cried out as Lucius's fist smashed into his jaw. He heard a crack and fell to the floor. He was blinded by the pain, grasping at his jaw. It was broken, he knew it was. He had to struggle not to let and tears seep out of his closed eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry heard Malfoy say. "Dad, what's going on?"

"This is between the Potter boy and I. Stay out of it," Lucius roared.

Lucius foot cut off Harry's breath as it slammed into his ribcage. Harry gasped for air but couldn't seem to get anything into his lungs. He rolled onto his stomach, trying to push himself up. Lucius used his foot to knock him back down and shove him onto his back.

"I've been looking forward to us meeting again, Potter," Lucius growled. His eyes were wild and murderous, "I imagined this everyday as I sat in my cell, my body rotting away, my mind deteriorating, alone and cold and away from my family and my home."

He drew out his wand and snapped it up. Likewise, Harry's body jerked upright into a standing position. Lucius smacked him down again. Harry tripped back as he fell and hit his head on the corner of Malfoy's desk. Lucius was on him in a second, dragging him up by his collar and slamming him into the wall over and over, smashing his skull into the plaster. Stars danced before Harry's eyes. The pain washed over him in waves.

"Not such a big man now, are you Potter? Not without your little friends to help you out. Not with the mutt, Sirius, finally taken care of, aye?" Lucius hissed into Harry's face.

His words cut into Harry and hurt him far more than the physical abuse. Sirius. Oh God, Sirius. His godfather- the only person who had ever come close to being family to Harry.

And suddenly, Harry couldn't feel the ache in his bones and muscles any longer. It all paled in comparison to the way his loss of Sirius had ripped and scarred his soul and left a permanent wound that would never, _ever_ heal.

"Come on, say something, Potter. Say that you're sorry. Beg me to stop," Lucius commanded as he drove the tip on his wand into Harry's throat.

"More," Harry responded.

Lucius's eyes glowed with such an inner hatred that Harry failed to comprehend it. 

"More? You want _more_? I can give you more."

"DAD! Stop this nonsense right now and talk to me!" Malfoy shouted. "What the hell is going on?"

"I said stay out of this!" Lucius said, yanking his wand out of Harry's larynx and stabbing it at his son. He said a spell Harry had never heard of before and Malfoy's body shot to the other side of the room and his body hit the fireplace with a thud.

"Crucio!" Lucius said as he pointed his wand back at Harry.

Harry scarcely had time to catch his breath before it hit him. Pain rippled through his body, tearing through his veins like hot razors. He wanted to scream but he couldn't even draw the breath to do so. His eyes closed; he went deaf. All he could do was feel- his other senses were dead. It went on and on, pulsing, growing, and spreading like a virus. Moving under his skin, eating away his insides, killing his thoughts. He had no sense of time or space or himself. He was the pain. It seemed all that was left of him in those seconds, or moments, or hours. 

When it finally began to ebb away to something tolerable, he realized that he had dropped to the floor. His fingers were curled into the fetal position, like when someone's had seizers. He managed to suck in a bit of air into his burning lungs and cry out, just once. The sound was hollow and sharp.

"STOP IT!" someone was screaming, "JUST STOP IT!"

"Shut up, you pathetic, insolent, little Blood Traitor! He was right about you!" someone yelled back.

"You're insane! God, Dad, you are fucking insane! What did they do to you there?"

"You have no idea."

"Well then, tell me!"

Harry let out another sob as his body began to go numb. The pain was going away, becoming distant. Or maybe he was just going into shock. Maybe his brain was shutting off the nerve endings, numbing him so he wouldn't feel it anymore.

"No, don't tell me. I don't care. Just take it off of him!"

"I will not."

"DO IT! DO IT NOW!"

"Why are you protecting him?"

"Because no one should have to feel that! Not even him. I know what it's like all too well. Father."

Silence.

And then it was over. The pain was removed in an instant. Suddenly, Harry could breath again. He could feel and see and hear and he had never been so grateful so those simple pleasures.

The door slammed shut. Someone yanked on the knob and swore. Harry looked up.

Malfoy was standing by the door, hands and head pressed against it. His lip was pulled into an expression of disgust and frustration. He pounded his fist into the door and turned. He looked down at Harry, who slowly, shakily pulling himself to his feet. His legs quivered under him as if they were unsure if they could hold his wieght. He braced himself on the wall to stay steady and looked up at Malfoy.

"Your Dad is a real bastard, you know that?" he muttered, his jaw aching with the movement and blood dribbling from his lips. He struggled to smile eeirily. 

And then he fainted.

Draco caught Potter in his arms as he crumpled towards the floor. He folded his long arms are Potter's body and held tight, feeling awkward.

"Bloody hell, Potter, you're heavier than you look," he commented to the unconscious boy. 

Hmm, now what should he do? He looked around the room, eyes resting on the bed. Ah ha, that ought to do. He began to drag his body across the floor, grunting as he did. Potter was listless and sprawled all over and his limp body kept slipped out of Draco's arms. 

God damn his father. Damn him straight to hell where he belonged, Draco thought furiously. He knew exactly what Potter had just gone through, and it was hell. That pain was enough to drive someone crazy. As he'd said to his father moments ago, not even Potter deserved that. Nobody did. It was unspeakably cruel.

Draco hefted Harry onto the bed, flopping his upper half into the deep sea of green pillows. Then he reached down and pulled up his legs, arranging them in what looked like a comfortable position. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at Potter.

His black hair was damp, clinging to his forehead. His lips were open and he was breathing irregularly. Draco watched his chest rise and fall rapidly, then drug his eyes back up to Potter's face, which was quickly bruising. Well, that he could do something for. As for the internal damage from the curse, there was no way to heal that. The body was a lot easier to heal than the soul. This Draco knew all too well...

__

"I need to know that you are truly loyal to me, Lucius." He had said.

"What can I do to prove it?"

"I want you to curse him."

"My son? But-"

"Either you can do it, or you can't. This is a true test of your devotion. And your true worth to me."

Draco shook his head, ripping the memory from his consciousness and boarded it up back in that dark place in the back of his mind. He went into his bathroom and rummaged through the drawers. He found the small bottle of purple potion and returned to Potter's side. He uncapped it and paused.

He looked at the boy breathing softly, laying across his bed. He looked a lot like a fallen angel- if that sort of thing existed, Draco mused. Of course, he didn't entertain such fanciful beliefs. But still, Potter looked so…innocent. Pure. Good.

Draco didn't like to admit it, but he felt humbled by the courage Potter had show when facing his father. Courage Draco himself never had when facing Lucius.

He sighed, and dipped his fingers into the potion. It felt cool and soothing, and glowed iridescently on his fingertips. Purple vapors drifted up from it as he reached out and smoothed it over Potter's battered jaw. He felt strange caressing Potter's face. The room felt too small, the air too still.

His hand began to feel warm, his face flushed. A strange tingle rushed from the tips of his fingers and spread all down his body. He wiped the rest of the potion onto Potter's other cheek and then, slowly, softly, reached up and brushed a damp lock of hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Potter stirred, and his eyes flickered open. Draco ripped his hand away and froze like a frightened animal. Potter's cool, jade eyes rested on Draco for a second, and then closed once more. Draco sighed, relaxed.

He rocked back on his heels, angling himself away. He still had a bit of the potion left, but he capped it instead of using it. It wasn't out of selfishness or the petty sense of annoyance with Potter that he felt. No, the well of that feeling was quickly drying. Here, locked together, wand-less, alone, neither of them had any advantage over the other. They were equal here. Draco had nothing to be jealous of.

He didn't apply the rest of the potion because he couldn't stand to touch Potter any longer. He couldn't trust himself to do that.

Because he was starting to feel strange things around Harry Potter. Unspeakable things.

He drew the green curtains around the bed, blocking Potter from the rays of the quickly rising sun. He checked the door once more. Still locked. He was still a prisoner in his room. His own father wouldn't rescue him. Wouldn't even give him any of the answers he was desperate for.

__

As Draco had lain, panting, weeping, on the cold floor of the dungeon room, Voldemort had chuckled, clearly pleased.

"Ah, Lucius, you are indeed a precious disciple. You haven proven your love for me exceeds even the love of your own son- your own blood. You shall be rewarded for your allegiance."

Draco hadn't been able to believe it then, not even as he had been writhing in pain under the Unforgivable Curse. Only now did he finally accept it.

Lucius loved the Dark Lord more than his child. His father was nefariously bad. Draco was the son of evil.

"Gee, this only gets better," he muttered to himself, and collapsed back against the door.

Once again, Harry awoke to a pounding head and a fuzzy memory. He was in a cloud of green, sunk deep in a cushion of temptation that was calling him back to sleep. But this time, he didn't want to slink back into the depth of his mind, into a fantasy of a place where he wasn't in danger. He needed to be in the present. 

He sat up, and realized that the 'cloud of green' he was laying in was Malfoy's bed! Well, that was certainly interesting, he mused. He hadn't…

No. Besides himself, the bed was empty. Harry was dually relieved and disappointed. Though he didn't revel in the idea of, literally, sleeping with the enemy, he wouldn't have minded seeing the blonde haired devil in his…er…natural glory. Anybody with eyes could see that Malfoy was painfully attractive. Sex appeal hovered around him like heavy cologne. 

Only in his drowsy state did Harry allow himself to think these things. As he shook off the grogginess, he straightened himself up, got a grip. Malfoy was not hot. That was no way to be thinking anyways, in a situation like the one he and Malfoy were in.

Harry parted the curtains around the bed and was momentarily blinded by the halo of sunlight penetrating through the windows and filling up the room was rosy, morning light. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and swung his feet to the floor, stepping out of the shrouded bed of his nemesis.

He looked across the room just as Malfoy emerged from the bathroom. 

In a towel.

Air rushed into Harry's lungs and his mouth dropped. He was unable to move; unable to speak. He felt his heart beating frantically against his ribs and the blood rushing from his head to other parts which his brain seemed to had decided were much more important at the moment.

Malfoy's body was surprizingly imperfect, and yet it was beautiful. His skin was white as Harry had expected it would be. His arms were thin, as was his torso. His ribs made indents down his sternum. His collarbones jutted out delicately, making him appear fragile. His stomach was soft and flat, shadowed by a deep belly button. His towel was slung low on his hips (and creeping ever-so-slowly lower), offering a glimpse of prominent hipbones, and white curls of hair leading a trail from his belly, dipping and disappearing under the towel. 

Malfoy had another towel over his hair, which he was rubbing briskly over his face. When he lowered it, he looked straight over at Harry and startled.

"Christ, Potter, what are you leering at?" he snapped, "I thought you were still passed out."

"S-sorry. I…er…woke up. And you were just standing there a…a bit naked and…. and I didn't have time to look away."

"That doesn't explain why you're still staring at me."

"Oh right," Harry said, and spun around. "Sorry. You had a shower then?"

"Obviously. I suppose you can shower as well. I don't really fancy sharing my bathroom, but I don't know how long we're going to be here and I also don't fancy sharing my prison with someone who smells, so…"

"Malfoy, what was that all about with your father?" Harry interrupted.

There was a fwoomp sound of a wet towel dropping to the floor. Harry gulped.

"Revenge, the best I can tell. Needless to say, he's a bit peeved about you getting him landed in Azkaban for two years. My father has a bit of an anger management issue."

"I could have inferred that," Harry said. He heard shuffling of fabric and the zip of trousers being pulled on. "Funny, though, I feel fine now. And I was sure my jaw would have been broken. Feels normal, though."

"Yeah, that's the potion I gave you. Heals bruises and stuff."

"What?" Harry said, nearly turning around but stopping himself, "You _helped_ me? I don't believe it."

"Don't burst into song just yet, Potter. I only did it because I know what it's like to have the shit beat out of you by my father."

Harry was silent.

"Anyway, you can turn around now," Malfoy said.

Harry did so. Malfoy was dressed in a pair of skinny, black trousers with pinstripes and a soft looking, clingy sweater. His damp hair was parted messily to the side, hanging down by his ears with pearl drops of moisture dangling from the tips. He turned to his wardrobe and pulled it open, rummaging through his things. He tossed Harry a pair of dark colored jeans and a t-shirt with the Slytherin crest on the pocket.

"That stuff's about your size, I'd guess. You're a bit bigger than me. You can wear it and wash your old stuff in the sink. I seriously doubt they are going to be performing laundry service for us while we're in here."

Harry nodded and moved towards the bathroom. He paused in the doorway and looked to Malfoy.

"Didn't find anything out from your dad?" he asked.

Malfoy shook his head and spoke bitterly, "Bastard just left and locked me back in here."

Harry slipped into the bathroom, closing the door softly. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing. He looked like hell, but he supposed he had the right to, after what he'd been through. He turned from the mirror and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain round him. He switched it on and let the water cascade over him in steaming jets. He tried to visualize his worries and fears washing away with the dirt and oil on his body. He opened his eyes, searching for soap. He found a bar of a green, minty smelling substance that foamed luxuriously. He rubbed it over his body, inhaling the scent and trying not to remember that he was in Draco Malfoy's shower or wonder if Malfoy had just been rubbing the same bar of soap over his body just moments before. 

There was a sort of stool off to the side of the shower, covered in glass bottles. After scrubbing himself off, Harry been to search through them, half looking for shampoo and half purely curious as to what was in Draco's shower. Hmm, exfoliating body potion? What was that? He poured a bit of the grainy substance into his palm and rubbed his fingertips in it. It felt sort of good, so he rubbed a bit more on his arm while reading the label.

__

Magic Springs' Exfoliating Body Potion promises to turn your dry, flaking, dull skin soft and smooth as silk. The small, round beads slaw off dead skin cells, revealing fresh, new, radiant skin. That and the clean, masculine scent will make your body irresistible to all the hot, young witches you come in contact with.

Well then, Harry giggled, that was certainly interesting. He wondered vaguely if the 'clean, masculine scent' also worked to attract members of the same sex.

The rest of the potions proved to be similar. Hair conditioners and body infusers with pictures of glossy haired witches on the front, skin softeners, face masks and foot scrub abounded. Harry was particularly interested in the spot remover that promised to banish acne and give one a flawless complexion. Was that really how Malfoy did it? With all these silly, girly products?

Not that Harry didn't try them. All of them. He was in the shower nearly forty-five minutes before he'd gone through each bottle, and he emerged feeling cleaner and more confident than he had in months. He wasn't sure, but looking in the mirror his skin _did_ look a tad more radiant. And it certainly felt nice.

He put on the clothes Malfoy had given him, opting to go boxer-less instead of pointing out to Malfoy that he'd forgotten to lend him some underwear. It would have been weird wearing Malfoy's skivvies anyway. And who knows what kind he wore. Harry didn't know whether he tagged Malfoy as a boxers or briefs kind of man.

He washed his clothes quickly in the sink and hung them on the shower rail, them emerged from the bathroom.

"Honestly, Potter, I thought you'd managed to knock yourself unconscious or something in there. I was considering busting in to rescue you, but then I remember, oh yeah, I don't care if you're hurt," Malfoy said.

But Harry wasn't paying any attention to his words. He was to busy inhaling the heavenly scent that was teasing his nostrils.

"Malfoy, is that…"

"Breakfast? Yeah. My Mum must have sent it up. It just sort of appeared with this table here in the middle of the room. Funny thing is, she sent two plates."

Harry was aghast, "She sent food for _me_?"

"Apparently. Although I didn't know why."

"I could hug your mother right now, I really could," Harry chimed joyously, plopping down at the table that had appeared in the center of the room. 

It was set lavishly, with a lacy, white cloth and porcelain china. There was a glass pitcher of orange juice in the center, along with a pot of steaming hot tea. Each of the plates was piled high with scrambled eggs, thick waffles, maple sausage links, fresh biscuits with fruit topping and slices of honeydew melon. Harry was salivating as he forked the fist scoop of eggs into his mouth. He dropped the fork and grabbed the pitcher, sloshing juice into his glass and gulping it down.

"Easy, now," Malfoy warned, "You're going to choke yourself."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said happily, biting off the end of his sausage. "Wow, your mother is an excellent cook."

"I'll pass on the compliment," Malfoy responded blandly.

"You know what your problem is?" Harry asked suddenly.

"No, but I have a feeling you're about to enlighten me."

"You're so concerned with being calm, cool, collected Malfoy that you never just enjoy things for what they are, you know. Yeah, ok, we're trapped in your room and your dad is a raving madman, and there are Death Eaters downstairs very possibly plotting our demise, but damn it, this is some good food. And we're both starving. So if we're going to die, why don't we just, you know, have one last really, really happy moment. You should learn to enjoy the little things in life."

Malfoy was silent a moment, then he responded, "Do you know what _your_ problem is, Potter?"

"What?"

"You're too goddamn optimist about people. You honestly believe there's good in everyone, don't you? I know you do. It's stupid. For someone who's encountered so much evil in his life you're still so naïve. Do you honestly believe that I'm going to throw my prejudices to the breeze and just enjoy a lovely breakfast with the person I hate most in the world? Do you, Potter?"

"You don't hate me," Harry said.

Malfoy was silent a moment, staring at his food. At last, he responded:

"Yeah, well, I don't like you."

"Tosser," Harry said.

"Prat."

"Voldemort fucker."

Draco pressed his lips together and became suddenly very serious. Harry feared for a moment that he'd gone too far. Just as he opened his mouth to offer an apology, Malfoy hit him square in the face with a spoonful of jelly.

Harry gasped and brushed it away frantically. He reached and scooped up a handful of eggs and flung them at Malfoy. They scattered through his hair and over his shirt. Malfoy retaliated by sloshing orange juice into Harry's lap. Harry leapt up, yelping.

"My pants!"

"_My_ pants, actually," Malfoy drawled, picking egg from his hair and smiling.

"Yeah, well I'm wearing them. I'm all sticky and I just took a shower."

"I noticed you used my things as well. You're hair looks better though. Sort of fluffy and light, and not so messed up."

Harry blushed viciously and turned his head down to hide it. Malfoy stood up and walked to his dresser. 

"Here. Take them off, I'll get you a new pair."

"I can't take them off."

"Why not?"

"I haven't…I haven't got any boxer shorts on…"

Malfoy looked over at him and started laughing like a lunatic. When he managed to calm down, he tossed Harry a pair of silk boxers. 

"Wear mine."

Harry just stared at them, feeling the liquidy fabric and trying desperately to stop blushing. Malfoy began chuckling again, settling back down to finish his breakfast. Harry slunk away into the bathroom to change.

As he emerged, Malfoy was looking more cheerful that he had in a while. 

"You know, perhaps you were right, Potter. Maybe I do you need to let myself enjoy life a bit more. You're proving to be quite a laugh, if nothing more."

Harry was thinking of something smart to retort back with, but when he looked back at Malfoy, the other boy was grinning at him softly, dove-gray eyes glowing. Harry smiled back, settled down, and finished his breakfast in a comfortable silence with Draco Malfoy.


	9. The Partnership

**__**

Chapter 9: The Partnership

__

Warnings: Slash, a few cases of adult language 

__

Author's Note: At long last, it's chapter 9 of Harry and Draco's tale. I hope you'll all forgive me for the wait, and enjoy the newest episode in our favorite slash couple's love story. As always, please review after you read. Tell me what you liked, and didn't like. Tell me what worked for you and what didn't. Nit pick my grammatical errors. Complement my prose. Whatever you want. All reviews are appreciated.

Thank you to the readers. You are what keeps me going.

"Potter, wake up!"

Harry groaned and rolled over, escaping the uncomfortable, rapid jabs into his ribcage by huddling down deeply into his haven of blankets.

"Potter, you lout, we're going to miss it! Get up!"

Harry blinked his eyes and turned towards the voice that was speaking to him. Without the aid of his glasses, he couldn't see much more than a blur of dark blobs, and something paler crouched over him.

"Malfoy?" he asked.

"No, it's me, Voldemort," Malfoy responded sarcastically. "I'm here for our bloody sleep over. Get up!"

"I'm up, I'm up," Harry mumbled, reaching over and snatching his glasses from the nightstand. His vision was restored as he slipped them over his face, just in time for him to watch Malfoy slide out of the other side of the bed and battle the curtains to escape.

He remembered a few hours ago when they'd fought over who would get to sleep in the bed that night. After two hours of exhausting squabbling, they both finally agreed that the bed was large enough for both of them to sleep on and still maintain a comfortable distance between them. Still, Malfoy had insisted on constructing a wall of pillows down the center, lest Harry became tempted try any 'funny business' during the night. Now Harry shoved those pillows aside and climbed out of the bed wearily.

"What's going on?" he asked, only half interested. He looked longingly back at the bed.

"Something is happening down the hall. If we're quiet, we might be able to overhear something important," Malfoy said, slipping his robe over his shoulders and sweeping over to the door. He pressed up against it and paused, then motioned Harry over.

"What?"

"Shhh! Just shut your trap and listen!"

Harry leaned his head against the cold, wood door and attempted to listen. All he heard was Malfoy breathing loudly behind him.

"I can't hear anything but you-"

"Shhh!" Malfoy insisted.

And then Harry heard it.

"…soon, in case he arrives before schedule. He delights in arriving early, you know," a faint and familiar voice was saying.

Harry turned his face towards Malfoy's and mouthed 'Your father'? Malfoy nodded.

"Right, well, the day after tomorrow then? I don't think it will be ready any sooner," replied a more feminine voice. Harry's skin prickled in recognition. 

"Are you sure it's process cannot be sped up? It's really a mater of urgency. I don't know how long we can hold him here before he figures out…"

Harry pressed closer to the door but he heard nothing more. Malfoy must not have heard either because he grimaced in frustration.

"…fine for the time being. He has your son to distract him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that their hatred for each other is quite opportune. With those two divided against each other and all their energy being put into bantering and bickering, we have nothing to worry about."

"I suppose you're right. Still…" the voices faded and then, "Well, all right then. The day after tomorrow and no later."

"Of course. Good night, Lucius."

"Sleep well, Bella." 

Just outside their room, a pair of light footsteps faded down the hall and disappeared into silence. A door closed quietly.

Harry's mouth formed a grim line. He turned and strode away from the door. 

"Bellatrix." Harry couldn't help but growling her name.

Malfoy's head snapped up. "She killed him," he murmered.

Harry's eyes darted through the darkness and settled on Malfoy's shadowy form, "You know?"

"Of course I know, you nitwit. We had a party to celebrate. Right before Dad was taken away to Azkaban."

"Lovely."

"I didn't enjoy it, you know. I'm not a Death Eater-"

"Yet."

Malfoy sighed, "This is getting tiresome, Potter. Is everything always this black and white to you?"

"Yes, it is," Harry snapped. "In this world, you chose to do either good or evil. It's that simple."

"So what am I, then? Black or white?" Malfoy asked.

Harry was struck by Malfoy's question. He stood dumbly for a moment, thinking that he had no answer for that. On one hand, Malfoy wasn't what he would call a good person. He was descended from evil; and it ran through his veins like black blood. He seemed fated to follow in his father's footsteps. But on the other hand he was sometimes painfully human. And the day before, at breakfast Harry had seen a gentler side to the boy. Not enough to redeem him of course, but it certainly had to count for something.

A few more moments of silence lapsed by before Harry had formulated an answer.

"Gray," he said with an air of finality, "You're gray."

Malfoy didn't answer. Instead he went to his dresser and pulled open one of the drawers. He carefully extracted a small journal and tossed it to Harry.

"In that case, I hope you won't read too much into this uncommon act of niceness on my account," he said, and smiled faintly, "I rather like my ambiguous state of morality."

Harry picked up the book and opened it. Malfoy opened the drapes on the windows to allow some of the starlight to illuminate the room. Without their wands, they had no way to light the room and were at the mercy of their captors, who seemed to be on a schedule regarding the lights in the room.

Harry flipped through the pages of the journal, confused. There we drawings and scribbled notes that he didn't understand. He looked to Malfoy for an explanation.

"I found it in Snape's room that night you followed me. You remember. It seems to document some sort of potion designed to cleanse a magical being of it's powers," Malfoy said, "At least, that's my theory."

"Snape is making this?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I don't think so. I believe he's working on the antidote."

"That means this potion already exists."

"In theory, yes."

"And is that what your father and Bellatrix were talking about?"

Malfoy frowned, "It's hard to say for sure, but I suspect they plan on using the potion on you. You have to admit, it's an admirable design. Without your powers, the last remaining threat to Voldemort's rein is extinguished."

Harry found that he couldn't swallow. He felt ill. "This cannot be happening," he whispered hoarsely.

Malfoy was silent. Harry flipped through the journal again. This time his eyes were glued to the drawings, watching the darkness inside the form of a man expand and bleed over the pages until it vanished. It was almost like a toy he'd seen Dudley playing with as a child. A flip book. Each page had a similar drawing and when one flipped through the book quickly the picture appeared to be moving. It was Harry's first taste of magic, in a sense. Dudley, of course, had grown bored with it in a matter a minutes.

Harry flipped the pages again and again, watching the grotesque little episode repeat itself. His head was spinning. Could there really be such a potion? Were the Death Eaters honestly planning to rob him of the one thing that made him great? Could he trust that Malfoy was telling the truth about all this?

He slammed the book shut and tossed it to Malfoy. 

"You're sincere about all this?" he asked.

"Of course I am. I'm not just saying all this for a laugh, Potter. This is serious. If they are really planning on doing this to you, something has to be done. We can't…I can't let that happen. I know Voldemort. I've met him and he's not what one would call a stable person. He is a great leader but he isn't fit to have the kind of power he wants," Malfoy said. He paused and noticed the skeptical look on Harry's face and sighed, "Give me the notebook. I'll write this all down if you don't believe me."

It took Harry a moment to realize what Malfoy was talking about. The Notebook. The Boy's Guide, with it's pages enchanted to only bear truths. He shook his head quickly. "You don't have to do that. I believe you."

Harry looked up at Malfoy, but the blonde had his head turned away to the wall. He held his hands clasped in front of him awkwardly, as if not sure what to do with them. 

"Er…Thanks, Potter."

"Oh! Erm," Harry stuttered, "You don't have to…I didn't mean for it to be a compliment or anything. I just-"

"I know. I_ want _to thank you. For trusting me when I've given you every reason not to. That shows character."

"Oh," Harry said. The room was painfully silent. Harry shifted on the bed and the sound of the sheets rustling seemed to rip through the room, the noise obscene in the stillness. When Malfoy finally clapped his hands together in front of him, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"I suppose we'll need a plan, then," Malfoy announced.

"A plan for what?"

"A plan for getting out of here before they give you that potion, you fuckwit. Honestly, try and keep up, Potter. It's your hide that's on the line here."

"Right," Harry said, relieved that Malfoy was back to name calling and that the heavier things between them were being pushed aside. "So, er, have_ you _got a plan then?"

Malfoy slumped down onto the bed. "Not really, no."

"You said something about an antidote, right? Maybe we could contact Snape and-"

"Number one," Malfoy interrupted, leaning back on the bed, "We have no idea where Snape is. And number two, if we were in any position to be owling for help, I think we'd have done it already."

"Oh, yeah."

"So really, we need to concentrate our efforts into getting out of this room."

"Malfoy, I've been thinking something that Bellatrix was saying," Harry said suddenly.

"Go on."

"Well, it was about us…fighting and all. I mean, she's right. We've been here almost two days and all we've done is bicker over silly things. It's a waste of time and energy, and both of those are quite precious in our situation. Our dislike of each other is getting the best of us both, you have to admit. Now look, I don't like saying this, but you are pretty smart. You seem to get good marks in school without even trying very hard. And me, well…"

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived," Malfoy prompted.

"Right. So, I think together we might…erg…we might make a good team. There, I've said it."

Malfoy leaned back as if to get a better look at Harry, angling back his head and squinting his eyes. 

"Harry Potter," he drawled in is familiar way, "Are you suggesting that you and I enter into some sort of…friendship?"

"Partnership is more like it. I'm not saying you've got to love me; you've just got to work with me."

"This does not entail following you around like your puppy dog, Weasley, I hope."

"No it- Hey! He's not a puppy dog. He's loyal!"

"To a fault." 

Harry glared.

"All right, all right, Potter. Keep your panties on. I'll play along with your little scheme. You and I, for the time being, will swear off all petty arguments, name calling and the like for the sake of our survival."

"And the survival of the world. Don't forget that."

"How could I," Malfoy grinned. Then he laid down onto the bed, hands behind his head. "This should be interesting."

"Yeah, well, I think the first part of our plan ought to be to get some sleep, because frankly my head isn't working properly at the moment."

"I feel a bit fuzzy as well," Malfoy admitted. "I guess we could afford a few more hours of rest, but when the sun rises, we've got to get to work."

"Deal," Harry nodded.

Malfoy shifted his body so the he was lying properly in the bed, and pulled the covers over him. He rearranged the pillow wall and turned away from Harry. Likewise, Harry got under his sheets, pulling them up close to his face and squirming to the far end of the bed. He closed his eyes, trying not to hear Malfoy breathing. His listened to his own breath instead and let his thoughts drift, willing himself to subconsciously concoct some sort of plan. Just as he was nearly asleep, Malfoy roused him.

"Hey, Potter."

"Yes?"

"Since we're being partners and all, should I start calling you Harry, do you think?"

Harry opened his eyes and turned to Malfoy. "Do you _want_ to call me Harry?"

"I…I don't know," Malfoy shrugged, "It couldn't hurt, I guess. I think it might help us remember that it's our goal to get along. Calling each other by our first names might promote a more productive relationship between the two of us."

"I never thought of that, but I suppose your right."

"All right then. It's set. I'll call you Harry and you'll call me Draco. For the time being. Because once we are back at the school you are back to being Scarface, got it?"

"Right. Once we are back at school we'll just pretend this has never happened at all. You'll be back to being a weasel faced, pale skinned, scrawny brat who couldn't catch a snitch if his life depended on it."

"And you'll be the repulsively disfigured, pathetic excuse for a wizard with no fashion sense to speak off, who needs desperately to be introduced to a hair brush."

Harry chuckled, "Goodnight, Draco."

Malfoy shifted noisily, "Goodnight, Harry. Pleasant dreams."

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Hermione and Ron continue to clomp around being entirely useless," Ron said as he and Hermione walked down the hall towards Potions class that next morning.

"Ron," Hermione sighed wearily.

"It's true and you know it! Harry has been missing for two days now! And here we are, going to class like nothing's wrong."

"What else can we do?"

"Break out of here! Go looking for him! Storm up to Dumbledore's office and demand some answers," Ron shouted, waving his books in front of him in a wild gesture of frustration, "This is crazy, Hermione. Harry is gone. Malfoy is gone. _And_ Snape is gone! Something very wrong is going on and I can't just sit here in dumb silence for much longer. I need some answers."

Hermione had grown quiet since they reached the archway at the end of the stairs into Snape's classroom. She stopped in the doorway and looked over to the livid redhead beside her.

"I think we just may be getting a few answers soon," she said.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, moving past her to look into the classroom.

Snape sat at his desk, illuminated in the glow of morning sunlight that streaked from the thin slat windows running along the ceiling of the dungeon room. His hair fell into his face, casting a black shadow over his face.

Ron looked over at Hermione. Neither said a word. They entered the room in silence and too their seats together near the front of the room. The classroom soon filled. A curious silence presided over the room as the students awaited an explanation for their professor's disappearance.

Snape rose up and snapped his wand at the door. It slammed shut and the sound caused most of the students to startle in their seats.

"I am sure who ever has been conducting this class has done an adequate job of keeping you caught up. I am safe to assume this much? Neville?" Snape turned to the boy quickly, and his hair fell away from his face, revealing dark eyes rimmed by darker circles and an ashen complexion.

Neville looked around for help and Hermione nodded encouragingly at him. "Er, yes sir. I mean, we are caught up. We just finished the chapter on calming concoctions yesterday, sir."

"Good. I want you all to take out your texts and begin reading the next chapter in silence, taking notes as you go along. You are to fill a twelve inch piece of parchment before the end of class. Get to work," Snape snapped, and the room was soon filled with the sounds of scratching quills and rustling book pages.

Snape stood very still, watching as the students busied themselves in their assignment. Ron gave Hermione a questioning look, daring not speak when Snape was in one of his moods. Hermione shrugged at him and mimed that he ought to get to work. Ron took out his quill, wrote something on his paper and slid it towards her. She picked it up and read it.

__

What's gotten up his arse? Snape acts like he hasn't just come from a week long vacation.

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, that is because I haven't."

Ron's head snapped up, and his skin paled. His mouth hung open but he couldn't seem to form any real words.

"I would hardly call my leave of absence relaxing, or refreshing in anyway. I hope this is enough of an explanation of my behavior for you, Weasley, because I am not feeling inclined to giving you any more details at the moment."

"Oh, er…no, ergh. Not any of my business, really. Sorry, Professor," Ron said, his pale skin now taking on a pinkish tint.

"Good. Get to work. As for you, Miss Granger, I need to see you after class."

Hermione looked up, clearly surprised, "But, sir, I've got a class right after this. I can't be late."

"In that case I will write you a pass to excuse you. I'm afraid what we have to discus is of the utmost importance, and it merits one missed class. I shall see you in an hour."

With that, Snape turned back to his desk and dropped down, busing himself and not looking up until the period was over and the class had begun to file out.

As Ron gathered his things to his chest, he learned towards Hermione.

"What in Merlin's name do you think he wants to talk to you about?" he whispered loudly in her ear. 

"I don't really know."

"Well, if you have a chance, try and find out all you can about where he was and what he knows about Harry and Malfoy. All right?"

"Will do. Anyway, you better get out of here. Take notes for me in History of Magic."

Ron frowned, "Er, yes, well, I'll try anyway. I have an awfully hard time staying awake in there."

"Do your best."

"And you do your best. This may be our chance to get some answers."

"I think we slept a bit longer than we intended."

"I'd say. It's nearly ten," Harry said. He was doing his morning stretches on the floor of Malfoy…er…Draco's room.

Draco tugged off his robe and night shirt and replaced them with wrinkled green dress shirt. He dug around in his drawer and threw Harry another t-shirt- this one declaring the wearer's 'Slytherin Pride'.

Harry changed into it reluctantly, "I'm beginning to think the only reason you're providing me with clean clothes is that you enjoy seeing me in these shirts."

"That's part of it," Draco admitted. He dropped his flannel pajama pants and pulled on a pair of jeans. "I had a dream last night."

"Well, golly, did it involve you and Voldie having a tea party together?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"No. Although I once dreamed that Voldemort was my date to the Yule Ball. But I'd taken a weird sleeping potion that night, so it's excusable. Anyway, this dream was different. This could help us."

"Get on with it."

"I dreamed that I was running through this really narrow hallway. I was in the mansion- here. I was much younger. The house elves were making cinnamon tea cakes for a party of my mothers and I wanted to snatch a few before they were gone. I came to the end of the hall and there was a little door. It lead into the kitchen."

"So what does that mean?"

Draco walked over from his wardrobe to the wall adjacent to the one the wardrobe leaned against. He rapped his knuckles on the plaster.

"It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory from my childhood. This," he said, gesturing around him, "Has always been my room. But it's been remodeled over the years. Things have been changed, moved. I'd forgotten all about it but, Harry, there used to be a secret passage way _right here_."

Draco rapped the wall again and this time Harry noticed the hallow sound it made.

"It's still there!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes. And if we could somehow access it-"

"We'd have a way to escape," Harry finished. "It's brilliant!"

"Not quite. There's no way to get to it besides knocking down this wall. And I imagine that sort of noise wouldn't go unnoticed."

"Bugger! It's always something, isn't it?"

"Well, things just aren't handed to you in life. But what you need is always there. If we can work out a way to knock down this wall silently then we'd be set. All we need is a plan."

"Miss Granger, I trust I can count on your discretion in the matter I'm about to discus with you."

Hermione looked up from her notes. Snape was seated at his desk, hands planted in front of him, clasp together tightly. His features were frozen in a look of composure, but his hands were gripped together tightly, turning white at the knuckles.

Hermione stood slowly, "Yes. Of course, Sir."

Snape stood as well, sweeping his robes around him. "Good. I also hope you wont let your ego be inflated but what I'm about to say next."

He fixed her with a cold stare, and Hermione could think of no way to respond to that, so she said nothing. He continued as if he'd expected her silence.

"You are, although I loath to admit it, the best and brightest student I've had the misfortune of instructing in my long and tedious career as a professor here at Hogwarts."

Hermione was stunned. She felt heat rising into her chest and face and she struggled to stammer a thank you.

Snape frowned deeply at her and continued, "You are also an officious, overbearing, neurotic, attention-seeking brown-noser, which I find utterly distasteful. However, in my current situation I am going to have to look past those traits. Because I need your help."

"_My_ help, Professor?"

"Don't make me say it again, Miss Granger. Now, do you agree to assist me in my project or not?"

"I…I…" Hermione's head was spinning. This was not what she had expected at all. She struggled to make sense of what Snape was saying, but her thoughts were racing too quickly. Help? He wanted her help? What could the potions master possible need her for?

"I suppose you'll want to know more about our little project before you give me your response," Snape offered. Hermione nodded dumbly and he went on, "As I'm sure you've noticed, things have been far from normal these past few days. Our Headmaster thinks it's best not to give out to many details so as not to alarm the students. So please, don't go around babbling about what I'm about to tell you."

"No, Sir. I…Of course not," she managed.

"All right then. Subtlety has never been my strong suit so I'll just come out and say it. We believe a group of students here at Hogwarts have become involved with a group of revolutionists known as the Death Eaters. Are you aware of such a group, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's mouth went dry. She nodded numbly.

"Then you know that these Death Eaters are supportive of You-Know-Who. There was an incident reported to us by some of the portraits from the third floor hall that took place a few days ago. Sparing you unnecessary exposition, the staff has come to believe that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have been kidnapped by students and taken to an unknown location."

"What?" Hermione exploded. Her stomach was turning, her pulse racing. "What do you mean, kidnapped? And why both of them? What could Malfoy have that would be of use to Volde-"

"We are not here to discus the why of it, Miss Granger," Snape barked, "I am not employing you to act as any sort of intelligence."

"But, Professor, this is my best friend you're talking about!"

"Yes, and I hope you are not going to let your emotions cloud your thinking, because I am counting on you to be able to help me insure that no harm is done to Potter that would irreversible."

Hermione let out a slow breath, desperately trying to collect herself. Harry was in trouble, and Snape was clearly offering her a way to help. She needed to be calm. She needed to compose herself.

After a few seconds, she managed to voice her first question. 

"What do you mean by saying I'm to help make sure no _irreversible_ harm has been done to Harry?"

Snape reached one arm into the folds of his voluminous robes and produced a small vial of a brilliant, glittering violet liquid that bubbled menacing red bubbles.

"Have you ever hear of an Evaporation of Magical Capabilities potion, Miss Granger?"

"So…how wide would you say the passage way is?"

"I really don't see what that's got to do with anything, Potter."

"I'm just trying to look at this from all angles. And it's Harry. Remember, we agreed on first names."

"Right well, _Harry_, would you please stop chewing on that quill. It's genuine phoenix feather and your saliva is doing nothing to improve it's immaculate condition."

Harry pulled the colorful quill from between his lips and twirled it in his fingers. The black feathers glittered orange and red and blue in the daylight shinning though the window he sat before. He ran the feather over his closed lips, and Draco had to look away because of the uncomfortable stirring it caused in his unmentionable regions.

Funny, the more time he spent with Harry, the less he despised him. He hated to admit it, but Harry was rather agreeable and sort of vibrant in personality. And he had a wicked sense of humor. It was all Draco could do to keep the stern look on his face when Harry was saying something outrageous.

Harry tapped the quill on his forehead chanting 'think, Harry, think'. Draco tried to direct his mind away from the boy sitting in front of him and onto the issues at hand, but he kept noticing that Harry had a way of wearing a simple, black T-shirt extremely well. Maybe it was just that the shirt fit him, unlike most of his own clothes, which he had explained were handed down items from an obese cousin. Draco's T-shirt, however, was possibly even a few sizes to small for Harry, and it emphasized his rather impressive shoulders and forearms.

"Do work out at all?" Draco asked absently.

Harry shook his head. "Not intentionally, no. But my aunt and uncle make me work in the garden and around the house all summer, so I suppose that's a bit of a work out. Why?"

"No reason," Draco shrugged. Then, "For Merlin's sake, have you got some sort of oral fixation? Give me that quill before your ruin it. Do you have any idea how much this cost?"

Harry handed it over, "About as much as a good wand, I recon. Isn't that what they sometimes put in them? Phoenix feather?"

"Mmm."

"Yeah, too bad we couldn't make a wand. Using that feather, and like, a stick or something. Maybe a chair leg, or that ruler you've got in your sock drawer…"

Harry continued to ramble on conversationally, but Draco had stopped listening. He was turning the feather over in his hand, looking at it in a way he'd never looked at it before.

"Harry," he finally snapped.

"What?"

"Why couldn't we?"

"Why couldn't we what? Transfigure your bed into a Vespa and ride it through the door?"

Draco recognized vaguely that this idea was what Harry had been babbling about seconds ago when he'd gotten off on his tangent of unrealistic plans. Draco shook his head. "No, why couldn't we make a wand?"

Harry sat up in his chair, suddenly more alert. "Isn't that sort of far-fetched? I mean, yeah, a wand is a stick and feathers, or heartstring or whatever. But there has to be more to it than that."

"Yes, for complicated magic the materials have to be very precisely crafted. But for our purposes we could make due with a homemade wand."

"What do you mean 'our purposes'? What are we going to do with some shoddy wand? Remember when Ron broke his wand? He couldn't even perform simple spells properly!"

For a moment, Draco felt the sting of reality. No, it couldn't work. He'd been crazy to think it would.

"It's probably worth a try though," Harry finished, and Draco brightened. "I mean, most likely it won't work, but, honestly, what have we got to lose? I'm about to be force-fed a potion that'll turn me into a squib, and _who knows _what they are planning to do to you!"

"What comforting thought," Draco mused.

Harry stood up and began looking around. "We need some fancy wood. Like…"

"Oak?" Draco offered, holding up the desk chair he'd been sitting on.

"That's a bit large."

Draco looked at the chair thoughtfully, considering it's value. It was the same chair he'd been horrified to see Harry tipping back and forth in the other day, but now, with the reality of their situation setting in, the 17th century relic did not seem so important in the grand scheme of things. 

Grinning at the thought of what the look on his father's face would be like if he saw what Draco was about to do, he lifted the chair above his head and brought it down to the floor in a swift stroke. It splinted into pieces, bouncing along the floor. He reached down and snatched up a leg and held it out to Harry.

"How's this?"

"Perfect. Get me some spell-o-tape, would you?"

After a few minutes construction time, they had themselves wand. Or rather, a feather taped to a chair leg, but in it's most basic elements, a wand was precisely what it was. Harry tested it out by aiming it at the bed and yelling _"Lumos!" _One of the pillows promptly burst into flames. Harry was ecstatic.

"Not exactly what we wanted, but it works! It performs magic!" he exclaimed with a contagious grin. Draco couldn't stop himself from smiling back, though he tried to suppress it.

Harry was not yet done rejoicing. He turned two more pillows into fluffy, miniature poodles which exploded in clouds of feathers a few seconds later. His face was lit up with enthusiasm. His green eyes sparkled like soda water. He turned to Draco and decreed, "We did it! Our stupid plan worked!" then swooped him up into a hug.

Draco was shocked at first, but his tense muscles relaxed as Harry's warmth spread over him. He actually laughed in return, and allowed Harry to rock him back and forth madly, praising their genius loudly the entire time. After a few seconds, Harry seemed to gather himself and realized what he was doing. He ended to hug abruptly, awkwardly, and stepped away from Draco. Then he directed attention back to their wand.

"So, what do we do with it, then?" he asked, shaking it and watching glittery sparks fall from the tip.

"We can't do any big magic. Not only would it be dangerous with a wand like this, but we might attract the wrong kind of attention from our captures."

"True. So…what can we do? We obviously can't use it to call any broomsticks and fly out of here. But could we apparate out?"

Draco shook his head, "Dad put an anti-apparation charm on my room after I snuck out last summer and spent the weekend at Pansy's place."

"Oh, right. _Pansy_," Harry said with a snort.

"What?"

"Nothing. I mean, I don't want to say anything mean about your girlfriend, especially since we've been getting along for pretty well for the past few hours."

"She's not my girlfriend," Draco said.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I mean, I sort of dated her for a while but it was more of a friends-with-benefits type of thing. Anyway, it didn't work out. Pansy's not really my type, to tell you the truth. We weren't well matched."

"So what is your type then, if it's not the big-breasted, blonde pureblood?"

Draco looked thoughtful, "I don't know. Someone with a sense of humor, who's smart, but not showoff-y about it. Good-looking, but not better looking than me, of course. Someone who's loyal, who I could count on in a tight spot…" he trailed off, then suddenly snapped out of it, replacing his dreamy look with a smirk, "Anyway, what is this, The Daily Prophet Personals?"

"I was just curious," Harry answered unapologetically. He smacked the wand into his palm and said, "What about a silencing spell?"

Draco asked what he meant, being in no way able to see how a simple spell like that could help them. Harry crossed the room over near the fireplace and patted the wall adjacent to it. The portrait of Draco attempted to crane it's neck out of the painting to see what Harry was referring to.

"The passage way," Harry said, knocking on the wall, "We can't get it open without making a lot of noise and alerting a lot of people. But if were cast a silencing spell in the room…"

"We could make all the noise we want!" Draco finished. "Brilliant!"

Harry beamed, "I thought so."

"Stop taking all the credit. It was my dream that reminded me that the passage. And it's my expensive quill that's taped to my chair's leg to make that thing we're calling a wand."

"And it was my idea to make the wand," Harry reminded him.

Draco scowled prettily. "Fine. I guess that makes us even. We're two for two."

But Harry was still grinning triumphantly. "You're forgetting one very important thing."

"Which would be…?"

"It was my idea for us to partner up. Therefore, I win."

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times, but for once in his life, he could think of no retort. Finally he sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Well, what are you waiting for, Smarty-Trousers? Cast the spell before Voldemort himself turns up here and decided our skulls would make pretty candle holders."

"This is a bit…er…tighter than I imagined it'd be."

"It just hasn't been used in a while."

"Well, I can see that. I think I'm too big to fit."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. You are not that large."

"No, no! I'm serious! I think-- Oh no, I'm stuck!"

"You're _what_?"

"I said, I'm stuck! Jammed! Lodged in! I can't pull out!"

"Maybe if I squeeze this way--"

"Ergh! You're making it worse. Much worse. Just don't…move. At all. Honestly, what are you laughing it?"

"It's quite a funny predicament."

"I don't see how. It's embarrassing. And uncomfortable."

"I don't know, I rather like it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Draco shrugged the best he could. As it were, Harry and he were squeezed chest to chest into the newly opened passage, which had turned out to be a bit smaller that Draco remembered it being. Still, Harry was feeling rather giddy. Their wand and spell had worked, and they'd gotten the passage open. They had made leaps and bounds towards their ultimate goal of escaping. 

"You're squishing my liver!" Harry moaned loudly. 

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Draco ordered merrily. 

"We're going to die in here. We'll starve to death, or…"

"We aren't going to die. We're just in a bit of a…a tight spot, if you will."

"Very funny," Harry grumbled. Still, he smiled a bit at the uncharacteristic gleam in Draco's eye. "What's gotten you in such a good mood?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead he lifted his arms, sucked in his stomach and managed to slide past Harry. He turned and put on a wicked smile. "We're free."

"So we are…"

Draco was already hurrying up ahead, waving for Harry to follow. Harry was forced to trail after the blonde into the dark hall, feeling his way along when the fading daylight from the bedroom gave way to the complete blackness of the narrow passage. His fingers brushed over the crumbling stone, tangling in the sticky thread of spider webs. He shivered, and whispered to Draco, only to be shushed immediately.

"We don't want to be heard," Draco whispered.

"I can't see where I'm going."

In response, Harry felt Draco's fingers slip over his. They were long, lithe and warm. He had to suppress a shudder as Draco's fingers pushed their way through his, and their palms came in contact. He could feel Draco's pulse beating fiercely under the skin of his wrist. 

Draco continued to pull Harry along, but Harry was no longer concentrating on the mission. His body was buzzing with the memory of Draco's body pressed against his. He felt shivery and electric, and blanketed with a warm glow of happiness. As if responding to this, Draco squeezed his hand, and Harry felt uncharacteristically weak. He had a feeling that if Draco asked him to do something right now, he'd obey without hesitation, no matter what the consequence.

It was a dangerous feeling.

Finally Draco dropped his hand and replaced his palm on Harry's back, pushing him forward. His breath warmed Harry's cheek as he leaned in to speak. "The kitchen," was all he said. Harry heard a scuffling sound, then Draco swore quite loudly.

"Shhh. What is it?" Harry asked.

"I can't open it. It must be sealed up, or something. But it was never sealed before. It was still here in the summer."

"Do you think your dad knew we'd try something?"

"I don't see how he could have. Look it almost gives…" Draco grunted and shuffled around. "I can't move it. It feels like there is something in front of the door."

"Maybe you're parents redecorated," Harry suggested. He tried shoving the door open as well, but no cigar. It simply wouldn't budge.

"Come on, let's go before someone hears us," Draco urged, "There is nothing we can do."

Then turned and made their way back to the room slowly, trying to be as silent as possible. Draco exited first, sliding past Harry and stomping out into the room. He kicked at one of the pieces of plaster that littered the floor.

"That was a waste of a perfectly good chair," he whined, looking down at their homemade wand.

"Maybe we could think of another spell to do," Harry suggested, hoping he didn't sound as crestfallen as he did. But he was. Because for a second there, he had actually been hopeful. He'd actually believed that they could escape this prison.

"It's getting late," Draco said, looking towards the window. True to his words, the sky was taking on the rich purple hues of twilight. "Time is running out."

"Please. Don't say that."

"I know. I don't want to think about it either. I don't want to think about what they're planning. How truly helpless we are right now…"

Harry groaned.

There was a moments silence as each boy privately considered their nightmarish expectations of the next few hours of their lives. Then Draco flopped down onto his bed, platinum hair surrounding him like a halo of moonlight. Harry dropped down next to him, and for a minute neither said anything at all.

Then: "You were right, Harry. This work as a team thing was a good idea. Even if our scheme didn't work."

Harry said nothing, just tilted his head to look at Draco. The boy was speaking in profile, staring up at the ceiling. The room was growing dimmer, the candles brighter. 

"I'm sorry I gave you so much hell this year about your being…you know," Draco said.

"Ok."

"No." Draco rolled onto his stomach, closer to Harry. His face was over Harry's, just a few inches away. "I mean it. You're not a bad person. You didn't deserve it."

"It's in the past," Harry answered.

Draco swallowed hard, eyes misting over like the hazy humidity that settled over the earth before a storm. When he spoke, his voice was thick. "It's that easy then? You're just going to forgive me?"

Harry answered truthfully. "I already have. In all honestly, we both behaved badly toward each other this year. I owe you an apology just as much as you owe me one."

"I owe you more than an apology."

"What more could you give me?" Harry asked.

Draco's voice was scarcely a whisper.

"This."

His lips settled down over Harry's, parted just slightly, softer than Harry had ever felt. Harry would have never imaged that any part of Draco could be so gentle, so yielding. At first Draco was trembling, but soon he let go, and was kissing Harry with all the skill and dedication of a musician playing his instrument. He moved carefully, purposely. His motions were perfect. It was all Harry could do not to cry from the intensity of it; the honesty of it. The beauty of it.

When Draco pulled away, Harry saw the crystal droplets shimmering in the corners of his eyes. But his lips stretched into a smile, a joyful expression. For his part, Harry could not think of a damn thing to say. Draco spoke instead.

"That's all I've been thinking about for this entire day," he confessed. "That was twenty-four hours of bottled emotions."

Harry could only blink in surprise. 

Draco went on, "And this…this is seven years of it."

Draco pressed his lips to Harry's again, and the second kiss was something else entirely. Where the first had been sweet and timid, this one was rich in passion and frustration. Seven years of hatred, jealousy, confusion and fierce admiration combusted between them. 

Draco's fingers closed over Harry's. They shifted so that Harry lay over Draco, kissing him back with fervor. When Harry had to stop to gasp for breath, Draco looked up at him, his eyes appearing to be a dazzling shade of warm mercury. He was grinning playfully. Happily. Harry had never seen the expression on the boy's face before.

Harry tried to think of something to say- some way to express how he was feeling at the moment. He wanted to say something eloquent. Something sincere.

But when he opened his mouth, the only words that came out were, "Oh, my…"


	10. Color Blind

**__**

The Hogwarts Boys' Guide (to the Best Lays in School)

****

Chapter Ten: Color Blind

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Warnings: Slash, Adult Language, and Some Violence

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Author's Note: Alrighty, I know this has taken an awful long time, and I'm extremely grateful that you guys are still interested in reading after all this time. I still get one or two reviews for this story a week, even though I haven't updated in forever, and that means an awful lot to me. I hope you'll indulge me with you're reviews of this next chapter. Most of all I hope you enjoy it. Please note that this has only been edited by me, so I'm sure there are errors. I'm terribly sorry. I'm in a need of a beta.

Since it's been so long and no doubt some of you are a but rusty on the plot line (I know I was when I started this chapter), I'm going to give you a quick re-cap a'la "Last week on ER…". So with out further ado:

The Hogwarts Boys Guide, Chapter 1-9 in 100 words (By no means is this a substitute for reading the actual story, this is just to remind you.): Seventh year, Hogwarts. Harry is out of the closet; Draco is in the closet with the door locked and bolted. Draco hates Harry, Harry hates Draco. Harry and Draco bicker and play nasty tricks on one another. Homoeroticism abounds. There is a notebook listing the best lays in school! Snape disappears. Draco discovers a secret potion Snape's working on. Harry and Draco are kidnapped and taken to the Malfoy Manor. More bickering! An evil plot! Harry's in danger! Suspense! Sexual tension! Exposition! Food fights! Lucius Malfoy! And finally, the moment we've been waiting for since Chapter One, Draco kisses Harry!

And curtain.

"Does this feel all right to you, Harry?" Draco asked.

His palms found Harry's face, touched him gently, carefully, as if he were something valuable. Harry could not find the words to respond. He settled for a quick nod, and hoped his eyes would convey what his words could not.

Something like fear flashed through Draco's eyes for just a second, then he let go of Harry's face slowly and dropped his hands to his shirt. His fingers found the buttons, and suddenly he was shirtless. Although Harry had already seen him in this half-naked state, this was something new altogether. Before, Draco had been untouchable. But now his body was territory to be explored.

He reached out slowly, extending his fingers gingerly, as if moving closer to a flame. And indeed, Draco's skin was hot to the touch. Harry pressed his hand to Draco's chest and felt his heart beating rapidly. He fought the urge to make some smart-arse comment about Draco having a heart after all.

"What are you smiling about?" Draco asked.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just…you."

Draco smirked in a different way than he normally did. It was warm, rather than icy. Then he took Harry's hand from his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger. He moved down his palm until his lips were pressed to the flickering pulse on Harry's wrist, and closed his eyes, as if afraid to see what he was doing.

Harry leaned in, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "Open your eyes."

Draco obeyed.

Harry had to look closer to believe what he saw. He lifted his hand to Draco's cheek. "You're crying."

Draco dipped his head down and let his hair fall into his eyes. He opened his mouth and a jumble of words tumbled out:

"It's just-- I get a bit-- I'm a little--"

"It's ok, it's ok, " Harry said, secretly slightly shaken but determined not to let it show. He brushed Draco's hair aside and kissed his eyebrows. The two of them slid back into the pillows on the bed. Then suddenly they were kissing feverishly, touching each other everywhere. Harry fought to stay in control of his body, but sensation and emotion were taking him over. Hiss mind was filled with sensation and memory. Draco standing on the Quidditch field. Draco sitting behind him in potions. Draco on the train to Hogwarts. Draco at the age of eleven, his had extended to Harry. Harry saw himself turning him down, refusing him.

And from then on, Draco had been unreachable. But here it was again- Draco's hand was extended once more, if only metaphorically. Should he take it?

Then Harry's shirt was up over his head, then lying on the bed in a heap. Draco's hands were under the waist of hisjeans. It happened so fast that Harry didn't have time to object, not that he would have. Draco's lips touched his, touched his cheek, touched his throat. Fingers tangled and untangled. Blankets rustled and lifted, their bodies tumbled together. Even as they struggled to remove the rest of their clothing, their bodies never stopped making contact. Hands clasped or legs tangled.

The tears continued to fall from Draco's eyes as he lay down on top of Harry, his body shaking. He stroked his hands over Harry's shoulders and back, and Harry shivered. This was it. Though he had not said a word, Draco was asking Harry if he wanted in.

Harry took Draco's hand. He wanted in. He wanted Draco, wanted to be under his skin, inside him where the real person resided, and the cocky, arrogant exterior was cast away.

Draco rolled onto his stomach and Harry positioned himself over him. Whispering a few words of comfort, Harry entered him as gently as he could. Draco cried out, buried his face into the bed. And Harry froze in fear. Until Draco said, "It's ok, it's ok." And they began to move together.

In that moment, Harry suspected they both knew that nothing between them would ever be the same.

This was what they'd been building up to their whole lives. So much rested on that one simple act. It couldn't possibly have lived up to expectations, but somehow it did. It exceeded them. Harry and Draco, together, was explosive. The sex was wild, it was intimate. It was soft, and it was painful. It ripped Harry apart. It would take eternities to put the pieces back together, but he didn't care. It was worth it. Every second of it.

When it was all over, and Harry collapsed, panting on top of Draco, they held on to each other in the dark and started to talk.

"When we get back to school…" Harry started.

"It won't be the same, will it?" Draco finished.

"No. I could try to treat you like I always have but…"

"But I'll be looking at you in a different way."

"I'll be wishing I could…could…"

"We could meet. In private. Up in one of the towers, or out behind the Herbology building when it's nice out."

"That would be nice. But won't people suspect?"

"I imagine so. But we've already managed to ruin each other reputations. What will it matter?"

"I guess you're right. If we get out of this alive, I really don't think I'll give a damn what everyone thinks. If we make it out of this…"

"If…"

"Do you think…?"

"I don't know."

"Me either."

"We just have to hope for the best."

"And prepare for the worst."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

Finally, well after the stars had begun to fade away, and brilliant violet had begun to wash over the horizon, they fell asleep, one tucked into the other, as if they'd been made for this.

When Harry woke up, Draco was bustling around the room naked. He sat up quickly and hit his head on the ordinate headboard of Draco's bed. He rubbed the spot and swore to himself, cursing Draco's nakedness for making him act like a fool.

"Well, that one way to get woken up," Harry murmured, grinning.

"Oh good, you're up," Draco said. He smiled.

__

Say something about last night, Harry prompted mentally. _Say it was as wonderful for you as it was for me. Say it was amazing. Say it wasn't a huge mistake._

Draco said nothing. A pair of trousers hit Harry square in the face.

"As much as I would enjoy seeing you walk around all day in your birthday suit, I believe it'd be far too distracting from today's task," Draco announced.

Harry slipped out of the bed and tugged the pants on obligingly. "Why, what's going on?"

"I decided last night," Draco said.

__

When? Harry wondered._ Before or after the extraordinary love-making?_

"I decided that we can't just sit here and wait for whatever's going to happen to us to happen. We have to do something."

"Ok. And what are we going to do?" Harry asked, becoming annoyed. He'd expected a different sort of morning after. More kissing and exclamations of love and less being ordered around and hit with clothing items.

Draco slide a shirt over his head and shrugged, "Dunno yet."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, glad you've always got your head on."

"I'm going to think of something," Draco insisted, tapping his head. "I almost have an idea. Here-- shirt."

Harry put on the silky, white shirt, remembering he'd once admired it on Draco, then had to hit himself over the head with his Potions text as punishment for such traitorous thoughts. That seemed awfully long ago.

Draco produced two pairs of leather boots. "I hope these fit you. Your feet are rather large, aren't they,?" he said, but he wasn't looking at Harry's feet when he said it.

"Why do we need shoes?" Harry asked blandly, a bit confused as to what Draco was planning. He was also a bit weary of meeting the brainchild of his blonde lover. Draco was smart, but any plan concocted to get the out of this fortress was bound to be a bit harebrained.

"Shoes, Harry, are for covering one's feet to protect them from the harsh earthly elements."

"I know that. But why do we need them? We're stuck in your room, and there are no harsh elements here."

Draco smirked, "We won't be staying here much longer. I'm afraid our little invitation is about to expire."

"What does that mean?"

"I …I have a feeling. We've been here a few days already. The Dark Lord is sure to arrive soon. Any minute now, actually."

"Well, that's a mood killer," Harry muttered to himself as he laced up the boots.

Then suddenly, Draco stomped up behind him, grabbed him around the waist and pressed his lips all over the back of his neck. Harry shivered and laughed, turning and yanking Draco into a full frontal snog.

"Even the Dark Lord can't put a damper on what I feel for you, Harry," Draco said. "Especially not after last night."

Harry beamed. "Interested in a rematch?"

Draco kissed him once more, quickly, and shook his head. "I wish we had time. But we need to prepare. Once we get back to the castle, we'll have all the time in the world for this.I promise."

"You seem quite confident this morning. What makes you so sure Voldemort isn't going to have us roasting on spits by the end of the night?"

"Isn't it obvious? You're here with me, Harry. If it were just me in this position, I reckon I'd be hiding in my wardrobe, crying like a girl. But I've the only wizard who's ever defeated the Dark Lord on my side. You almost destroyed him as a _baby_, Harry! With you here, we have definitely got a fighting chance!"

Harry would have laughed if Draco hadn't looked so serious. So Draco Malfoy was finally admitting that Harry Potter was something special. How bloody brilliant it would have been if not for the dreadfulness of the situation.

Harry was torn between acting like a big man, or admitting the truth. He opted for the later.

"Draco, that….that was along time ago. And I have no idea what I did…"

"That's the beauty of it, Harry. You didn't really do anything. You just _were_ and that was enough. You probably have powers you don't even know about; powers none of us normal wizards could ever dream of!"

Harry sighed, "I wish I shared your enthusiasm. Unfortunately, up until this point in my life I've showed absolutely no signs of being anything but a run of the mill wizard with no extraordinary powers what-so-ever."

"You just haven't been provoked," Draco said, stabbing Harry in the chest with his finger, "Maybe you have to be in a life or death situation for them to show themselves."

Harry threw his hands up into the air, "Draco, you git, my entire career at Hogwarts has been one big life or death situation after another! I practically have one each year!"

Draco chewed his lip. "Hadn't thought of that."

"And don't forget they plan on giving me a potion to extinguish all my magic!"

"Right, so what you're saying is-- we're fucked." Draco flopped down in his chair.

"No, no, we're not. Not yet. I was just trying to show you the reality of the situation. Because we don't want to underestimate our opposition. If we're smart about this, if we take just take the time to think of-- ARG!"

"Think of a what?" Draco said, raising his head. He leapt to his feet when he saw Harry crouched on the ground, hand pressed to his forehead.

Unbearable, pulsing pain beat a loud rhythm in Harry's head. He closed his eyes and touched his fingers to his forehead. His scar was on fire. He managed to choke back his howls of pain and whisper, "He's here, Draco. He's here now!"

"What? Harry, who?"

Harry moaned, unable for a moment to form words. The pain was strong. It'd never hurt quite this much to be near him. Was he getting stronger? Was he getting more hateful? He wasn't sure. He felt Draco lift him up and lay him across his lap.

"Who's here?" Draco asked once more, face beginning to pale.

"Voldemort--"

Draco felt a cold rush of fear through his veins. The room seemed to be closing in on him. The carpet was trying to swallow him up. His clothes were too tight, the air too thick to breathe. Harry moaned in his arms, helpless with pain.

"Harry! Get up! You're scaring me."

Harry's face was white and contorted but he still managed to look sarcastic when he said, "Sorry to alarm you. Thought you'd like to know--" he paused and groaned. "Thought-- You've got to-- Think-- Voldemort said--You--Know."

"Harry, you aren't making any sense!" Draco said. His voice was getting shrill, but he didn't care. He didn't know what to do. He needed Harry to help him. He needed his strength, his courage. He had none of his own.

"Do not do this to me, Harry! Don't! I need you to help me. I need you to tell me what to do."

"You know what to do," Harry growled.

"That's crazy talk, Potter. Merlin, could you try to make a least a little sense? We're going to die here if you don't!"

"Draco, you can--"

But Harry didn't get a chance to finish. The door to Draco's bedroom burst open and Lucius swept in. He glanced down at Draco cradling Harry in his arms.

"Draco, what are you doing? Get away from the Potter boy," he snapped.

"Dad. What the blazes is going on?"

"Hello, Draco, my dear," interrupted a irritatingly shrill voice from behind his father. The sound penetrated the very depths of Draco's soul. He knew that voice all too well.

Draco felt sure his heart would collapse from the overload. His grip on Harry tightened, became protective. His body shuddered in his arms. Draco had never been brave, but earlier that morning, knowing Harry Potter would be with him when they faced this, he'd felt something much like courage. But now, with Harry lying helpless across his lap, that courage flagged and faded.

"Draco, don't be impolite," his father scolded. "Say hello to _Lord Voldemort_."

With that, the Dark Lord strode past Lucius and into the room. He looked a little better than he had the last time Draco had seen him. His face now contained a glimpse of the handsomeness it once held. It made him eerie and spectral. But Draco had to admit it, he looked healthier than he had ever looked. He looked a great deal happier as well.

"Well, it looks as if Harry Potter is going to present less problem than we anticipated," spoke the Dark Lord, a thin, sinister smile crossing his white lips.

Draco was about to say something in Harry's defense, when suddenly Harry sat up, still looking very pale, and said, "Don't count on it, you rotten piece of filthy--"

"Silence," the Dark Lord drawled. Then he grinned down at Harry. "Always were fond of dramatics, weren't you? Perhaps Severus was right, Harry Potter. Perhaps you do think of yourself as something of a celebrity."

Draco's body stiffened. Sev. He'd practically forgotten about his friend. He'd been working on an antidote. He was on Draco's side. Maybe-- just maybe-- he could help.

But where was he now? Last he knew, he'd all but disappeared from Hogwarts.

Before Draco could continue on this vein of thought, The Dark Lord's skeletal hand gripped his shoulder with astonishing strength and drug him to his feet. The Dark Lord put his arm around Draco's chest and pulled him close. Harry was lifted from the ground by Lucius, who pulled his arms behind his back to restrain him, though in all honesty, Harry wasn't put up much of a fight. His face was still drained of color and he looked to be in a good amount of pain. Something about the presence of the Dark Lord seemed to affect him strongly.

Draco tried to wiggle free, but the Dark Lord held tight. Harry kicked out feebly, but the movement did more to set him off balance than anything else.

"Administer the potion now and make this easier on all of us," snapped the Dark Lord, looking towards the darkened doorway once more.

Draco head snapped towards the door just as Severus Snape strode into the room.

Astonishment found Draco momentarily mute. Snape looked straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with Draco. He stepped up to Harry, who scowled but not much else, and lifted his robes, revealing an ordinate goblet filled to the brim with a violet liquid, covered in slick, oozing red bubbles.

"Oh, lovely, lovely, Severus. I really must thank you for all the painstaking research and experimentation it took to create such a powerful and destructive potion.," the Dark Lord praised gleefully.

This time Snape did look at Draco for just one, brief moment. His dark eyes were pained, but Draco felt no sympathy. Snape had invented the potion that would be the end of Harry Potter. He had aided the Dark Lord, and in doing so, sealed his alliance in Draco's mind. He was the enemy. A betrayer.

Draco felt murderous. He wished desperately that he had his wand. Just one quick swish, one incantation…

"I'm not drinking that," Harry announced, and pressed his lips together like an ornery two year old.

The Dark Lord laughed. His body vibrated with it, and he clutched Draco tighter. The Dark Lord waved his hand and said, "Severus, if you would."

Snape pulled a syringe from his robes and stuck it into the potion, drawing it into the instrument. Draco boiled with anger and resentment. How could he? How could he do this? Not only to Harry, but to Draco. Draco, who'd always trusted him, always confided in him. Draco, who'd confessed his darkest secret to him-- that he did not wish to become a Death Eater.

And Snape had been oh-so-supportive. Draco had honestly believed that Snape could help him get away from this world. He'd believed that Snape was like him, an innocent caught up in a dark world.

But he'd been wrong, hadn't he? He'd been stupid, hadn't he? He'd been played for a fool.

If only he had his wand. Merlin, he could end this now. If only…

His eyes fell on his father, who was looking not at the boy in his arms or the potion clasped in Snape's hand, but back at the wall next to Draco's bed. Draco followed his gaze, and that's when he remembered. His father was looking at the gaping hole in the wall. The one that lead to the passage way he and Harry had tried to escape out of, only to find it blocked at the other end. The passage way they'd torn open with the aid of their make-shift wand. There it lay- abandoned. The answer to his prayers: a broken chair leg, a phoenix feather and spell-o-tape.

Draco didn't take the time to think of the possible repercussions of what he was about to do. He simply jerked back his elbow, hitting the Dark Lord in his most sensitive of areas and dove forward. He grabbed the wand just before crashing into the wall, then shot up, wavering dizzily, and pointed.

"AVANDA KE--"

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand sprang from his fingers into the hands of the Dark Lord.

"What in the name of arse is this?" he bellowed, looking rather comically annoyed.

"It's a wand, Sir. Crude, but rather ingenious," said Lucius.

"It's nothing but tape and wood. This is not a wand."

"I'm afraid it is," interrupted Snape. "I suspect it probably does not work flawlessly, but in desperate times…"

The Dark Lord raised his hand to silence him. "I've heard enough. Young Malfoy meant to kill me, and that is all I need to know. My suspicions are correct then. He is not on our side."

"My Lord, allow me to-" Lucius attempted, but the Dark Lord would hear no more.

"He will be killed," he announced.

"No!" Harry shouted, and began to twist and kick violently.

"ADMINISTER THE POTION NOW!" the Dark Lord snapped.

Draco suddenly found himself helpless, watching as the needle was jabbed into Harry's flesh. Harry cried out and Draco's heart burned. A foggy aura appeared around Harry's body and began to dissolve into the air. His green eyes were huge, his lips twisted into an expression of horror. The Dark Lord began to laugh. Snape slunk back, as if trying to disappear into the shadows in the room. Draco began to move towards Harry, when he was suddenly struck by a glowing ball of green light. He had a fleeting glimpse of Voldemort smirking at the make shift wand in his hand, murmuring, "Not bad, boys. Pity to be losing such gifted wizards."

Then everything went black.

Draco awakened sometime later, when the morning sun had long since risen into the sky and dropped below the earth once more. He was laying on a thick, familiar carpet made of woven unicorn hair. He was in his family library. And he wasn't dead!

That thought immediately cheered him. He sat up quickly and attempted to stand but just as soon toppled back to the ground, smacking his chin hard on the floor. Curses, he was tied up. He looked down at his legs, strung together with silver cord. Magical, no doubt. No hope of wiggling his way out of that. His hands were tied behind his back as well. Lovely. Just bloody-fantastic, that was.

Pouting fiercely, Draco struggled into a sitting position and looked around the room. It was rather small in comparison to most of the rooms in the house, and the bookshelves that lined the walls were only half filled with a meager collection of wizarding texts and a small amount of romantic fiction owned by his mother. This was, of course, because this library was only a front. The real library resided deep in the earth, down in the dungeons with the rest of his parents extensive collection of illegal items. That library was large enough to rival Hogwarts', and filled floor to ceiling with books on Dark Magic.

Probably where Snape had done most of his research on that potion, Draco thought furiously.

As he reviewed the events that had taken place earlier that day, he began to feel more and more helpless. The potion had been given to Harry. Snape was a trader. And he was useless, tied up in the library and branded for death. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort turned up to do him in. Why he was still alive even now was a mystery to him.

He tried to be positive. He tried to tell himself that there was a way out of this. He told himself that Harry wouldn't give up, and neither should he. But the truth was he was not like Harry Potter. Nothing like him. Harry was a hero. Draco was whiney, cowardly nothing.

But he remembered Harry trying to tell him something before Voldemort had come into the bedroom. Something about…what he knew? What did that mean? If he knew something that would help get him out of this situation, surely he'd have thought of it by now.

But then, the Dark Lord himself had said that he and Harry were clever. They'd invented a wand! Together they-

Together. That's right. The wand had really been mostly Harry's idea. At best, it was a collaboration. But Harry wasn't here to help him now! Draco couldn't do this alone…he couldn't…

Draco dropped his head onto his knees miserably. When the door opened a few moments latter, he didn't bother to look up.

"Go ahead, kill me now," he said moodily.

"That would be counter-productive, I believe. I need you to help me, Draco," said Severus's voice.

Draco's head shot up. "You. I don't want to speak to you ever again."

"I'm afraid you are misinterpreting the situation."

"Oh, am I? Let's examine the situation then, shall we? You lied to me. You betrayed me. And you've single-handedly dropped a helpless Harry Potter into the hands of the Dark Lord. You probably even organized the Death Eater Scouts' capture of Harry and I at school. What exactly am I misinterpreting?"

Severus sighed wearily, and pulled a chair across the room and took a seat.

"You are correct on some points. I did lie to you, but it was only to protect you. Frankly, you already knew too much, Draco, and the Dark Lord was very concerned."

"There it is again," Draco sighed, "Everyone seems to think I know too much. Well here's a news flash- I don't. I haven't the faintest idea what's going on here. So if you happen to want to explain this to me--"

"Maybe you haven't heard what is going on because you are too busy rambling to yourself," Severus said.

"Why should I listen to you? You're a lying back-stabber."

"Liar, yes. Back-stabber, no. I did make that potion, Draco. That much is true. The why of it is complicated, but rest assured it was more to do with a general weakness of character than malicious intent. Nothing makes what I did right, Draco, and I'll have that contend with for the rest of my life. But I also made the antidote," Severus said quietly.

"Why should I believe you?" Draco asked.

"Because you have no other choice."

Draco was silent a moment. Then he said, "Does this mean you're still on my side?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to get Harry and I the hell out of here?"

"All I have to offer is the antidote. It doesn't ensure our success. It doesn't mean that any of us will get out of this alive. What it does mean is that if we can get Harry out of this place-"

"We can restore him," Draco finsihed.

"Precisely."

"So what's the plan, then? Where have they got Harry?"

Snape looked grim. "You will see for yourself sortly."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid I didn't come here to chat. I'm here to escort you to your trial."

"My--"

But he already knew. He'd seen one of Voldemort so called trials as a child, and knew exactly what would happen. So that was why they hadn't killed him yet. They wished to humiliate him first. Well, so be it.

Snape continued, "There are a few things we need to go over first. After your trial, I most likely will not be able to see you again. So we need to discuss the plan."

Draco heart raced faster. "Plan? You've got a plan?"

"A sort of base one. Feel free to embellish it in anyway you can."

Draco nodded.

"All right then, this is what I know: Harry is being held in the throne room--"

"What throne room? We haven't got one of those!" Draco interjected.

"You do now, I'm afraid," Snape said. "Anyway, as I was saying, Harry is being held in the throne room, where at this very moment most of the surviving Death Eaters are assembling for your trial. In a few moments, I will escort you to your trial, during which you will be tried and convicted of being a traitor and sentenced to death. Your father will then ask for you to be spared at least until after the death of Harry Potter, which is due to take place sometime after midnight, when the potion has had time to take it's full effect and the Dark Lord can be sure that the incident that happened last time he attempted to kill Potter will not happen again. You will be returned to this room by me. I will tie you up again (somewhat loosely, I'm afraid, the joints of my hands aren't what they used to be) and go to guard Potter. Then the ball will start."

"There's going to be a ball?" Draco shouted, outraged.

"A celebration, as it were. The ball will last until midnight. That will give you two hours."

"That's it? Two hours?"

Severus nodded, "I'm afraid so. Now listen closely- you cannot Apparate out. You cannot escape through any doors, because they are all being guarded. And neither of us has got a wand."

"Took yours too, aye?"

"I am still considered suspicious, and with good reason. Anyway, that makes your best option a potion. Several potions, possibly. A diversion would be helpful."

"A good diversion would be to hurt some people," Draco growled.

"I agree, but Draco, take it from me. Do not get involved with Dark Magic unless it's absolutely necessary."

"But--"

Severus waved his hand, "We must go."

"But I haven't had time to--"

"I'm sorry, Draco. This is all we have."

Harry lay flat on his back in his cage, staring at the dark metal ceiling, watching the strange, ghostly fog all around him slowly fade into nothingness. It was his magic, he'd realized. And it was almost gone. Another hour, maybe two, that was all he had.

And then they would kill him.

Dying didn't frighten him. Death had been a part of his life for so long that he was used to it lurking behind him, nipping at his heels almost constantly. He'd come close to dying so many times that it felt familiar to him.

What frightened him was what came after dying. What would happen to him?. Would he become a ghost like the ones at school? Would he go to some kind of heaven? Or would he just evaporate into thin air, just….cease to be? Most importantly, would he get to see Draco ever again?

When he thought about Draco, he felt restless and angry. They'd only just begun, and he desperately wanted to stay on earth long enough to see out their possibilities. But him fate was no longer in his hands. He was helpless here, caged up like an animal, being gawked at by all manor of evil people.

He turned his head to the side and watched between the bars as the room filled up with people. He recognized some. Voldemort was there, of course. He was sitting on some ridiculous throne built up on a platform covered in black velvet, sipping blood out of a goblet like a deranged vampire. Lucius and Narcissa were there as well, looking nervous, probably thinking about the impending fate of their son. A few other Death Eaters were familiar to Harry as well. All of them seemed to know him, and were taking great pleasure in laughing at him and taunting him.

He was paying them no mind at all, which annoyed them greatly. When a few began to jab their wands at him, he simply turned his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes. He pictured Draco and smiled in a bittersweet sort of way. If only they'd had more time.

"Well, well, well. Long time no see, Potter. I must say, you've grown into a handsome young man."

Harry recognized the voice and opened his eyes. Bellatrix LeStrange had her hands curled around the bars of his cell, and she was staring at him with an expression of great amusement. She was wearing dark red robes cut low enough to reveal her ample, lily white bosom. Her lips, painted as red as her dress, twitched into a smile.

"Remember me, Harry?" she taunted. "I believe we met sometime during your 5th year- do I recall correctly? Yes, I do believe I am correct. I met you at the Ministry. You were with your godfather. Shame about him, Potter. Good man. Too bad he was always poking his nose where it didn't belong. Do you miss him terribly?"

Harry sighed and rolled over.

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be seeing him again real soon," she purred, and walked away.

Harry lay like that until the room began to quiet. Curiosity got the best of him, and he sat up to see what was going on. A fissure had formed down the center of the room, with everyone gathered on either side. At one end of the aisle was Voldemort on his throne. At the other, was the open door where Draco stood looking remarkably calm.

He swaggered into the room, head tilted up, looking every bit the prince he was at Hogwarts. His hands were tied behind his back and Snape walked in step behind him. He walked up and stood before Voldemort. He managed not only to look completely confident, but bored out of his mind as well.

Voldemort rose and announced that Draco Malfoy was to be tried as a traitor, and if found guilty, would be sentenced to death. Harry watched in utter fascination as Draco began to yawn halfway through the speech and then apologized blithely. He had to have been faking his utter lack of concern, but his act was terribly convincing.

So that's how he does it, Harry thought. That's how he always manages to appear so composed at school, no matter what. It was all just a good show. Harry couldn't help but be a bit impressed.

The trial continued, an Voldemort stated his case against Draco. But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at Draco, whose eyes had taken on a far away look. He was thinking hard about something. Could it be…

Could he have a plan?

The Dark Lord was speaking but Draco was scarcely hearing a word of it. He was going to be condemned to death, he already knew that. The rest of this was just ceremony- or rather, entertainment. He only had to cast his eyes briefly toward the crowd to see that they were eating it up. Oh my! The son of Lucius and Narcissa, a traitor! Who'd have ever imaged. Whatever.

Time was of the essence. He couldn't spare the energy it would have took to listen to his trail. Instead, he focused on what Snape had told him: there was possibility of escape.

Was it already too late? Draco wondered, glancing over at Harry, who was still enveloped in that thick vapor.

No, he decided. As long as they were alive, it wasn't too late.

At least, he was trying to believe that. On the outside, he knew he looked calm, undaunted. But inside, his heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. His thoughts were a storm of dark images, hopeless thoughts. He was just barely holding on to the ledge of sanity.

One thought repeated in his head over and over. It was something Snape had said.

__

"When the potion has had time to take it's full effect, the Dark Lord can be sure that the incident that happened last time he attempted to kill Potter will not happen again."

Harry Potter had survived the un-survivable curse once. Could he do it again?

Draco desperately tried to work through just what had happened on the night so long ago. He'd been supplied the details by his father, but of course, he hadn't been there, so he didn't exactly know how it'd happened. What he did know was that Harry was the one and only person to ever live to remember hearing the words Avanda Kedavara. There had to be a logical explanation for it. Sure, Harry was an exceptional wizard, but even exceptional wizard were mortal. There had to be something more…

"Please, my Lord. Allow me to make a plea for Draco's life. If not for only a few more hours."

It was his father speaking. Asking for more time, just as Severus had said he would.

"Nonsense. We will kill him now, then get on with the festivities," the Dark Lord answered shortly.

Draco momentarily lost his breath.

"My Lord, I think it wise you hear me out on this matter," his father insisted. A great number of people gasped. It was not greatly advised to talk back to the Dark Lord. One was likely to find his head at his feet for doing so.

However, the Dark Lord simply nodded.

But instead of speaking out loud, his father approached the Dark Lord, bowed, and then whispered something rather lengthy into his ear. After a long moment in which Draco began to feel a bit faint, the Dark Lord nodded solemnly. Draco didn't miss the look of disappointment that crossed his face.

"Draco Malfoy will be returned to the library and imprisoned there until further notice. Everyone else, please make your way into the ballroom, where a lovely feast has been arranged by Narcissa."

Draco looked over and saw his mum dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief and looking somewhat relieved. She cast a worried look at Draco and made a vague gesture towards Harry. What it meant was anybodies guess. Perhaps she meant that the two of them should try and escape together. Or perhaps she meant 'Draco, you vile piece of pound scum, you'll get yours, just like Potter'. Hard to tell with his mother- she was a fickle woman.

When she finally turned away, Severus came up behind Draco and began to usher him from the room. The Dark Lord had already exited, along with everyone else of importance, so he paused and asked Severus if he might have a quick word with Harry. To his surprise, Sev agreed.

Harry was flabbergasted by the apparent turn of events. He hadn't really expected Lucius to ask for more time for Draco. And he certainly hadn't expected Voldemort to allow it.

He watched Snape lead Draco through the quickly dispersing crowd. He was trying to memorize Draco-- the way he looked, the way he moved, the way the room changed when he was in it. Then Draco turned towards him and, taking a nervous glance around, walked up to his cage. Harry's heart beat faster.

"Hey," Draco said quietly, wrapping his fingers around the bars.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Ok, I guess. It doesn't hurt, I mean. If that's what you were asking. And my head doesn't hurt anymore when I'm near Volde- the Dark Lord. Guess it had something to do with magic. Listen, what happened just now? Why did your father help you?"

Draco shrugged, "Good old Dad, always good in a pinch."

There was a moment of silence, then Harry nodded towards Snape, raising his eyebrows.

"He's all right," Draco said. "Listen, Harry, I don't have time to explain it all, but you should know: there's an antidote. If we can get you out of here, we can restore everything."

"Really? Who-" but then he realized. Snape. He smiled briefly, "That's bloody fantastic. You've no idea."

Draco didn't return his smile. Harry put his hands over Draco's and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Harry," Draco whispered. "I…I don't know if I can do this. I have a plan but I…I can't-- I'm not a hero, Harry. I'm not like you."

"Nobody is born a hero. Not even me. Look, I've done this save-the-day stuff my whole life. And it kills me to sit here and be able to do nothing. But there is nothing I can do about it. This is how it's turned out and we have to do what we can. It's not my time to shine, Draco. It's yours. It's time for you to become a hero."

Draco shook his head more adamantly. Silver streams of hair whipped at his face. "I can't."

"You can! You have to! You're our only chance!"

Harry gripped Draco's hands, peeled them from the bars and held them. He knew Snape was watching but he didn't care. He pressed his face close to the bars of his cage and reached out to touch Draco's face.

"It's not me," Draco whimpered. "That's not who I am, Harry. I'm weak. I'm a coward. I'm--"

"Not that person any more," Harry insisted. "You aren't. You have to believe that!"

Draco's breathing was rapid and shallow. His face was damp with sweat and drained of color. Harry could feel him shaking. He was scared. But he nodded once, and the look in his eyes told Harry that he understood.

"Do this for us."

Draco nodded once more. Then he kissed Harry.

Harry's eyes lowered, his grip on Draco tightened. Draco forcibly drug Harry closer. His kiss was desperate, the kiss of someone who'd never been loved properly. Harry wanted badly to be the one who gave Draco the love he needed. He prayed to live long enough to do at least that much.

When they broke apart, Severus was standing behind them, adverting his eyes and looking awkward. "Draco, we must go."

Draco nodded. Harry squeezed his hand once more, them let go. Neither said a word. Draco turned and walked slowly to the door. Harry thought he would pause there, and look back and say something. But he didn't. He just walked through and disappeared, Snape following closely behind. The door slammed shut behind them.

Draco didn't say goodbye to Harry. He didn't even look back. One day he might regret that. He was all too aware of that fact.

But he did look or say another word. Because he needed to believe it wasn't necessary. He needed to believe that he's see Harry alive again.


End file.
